


The King of Kings

by chocolatechimkookie



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alpha | Bang Chan, Alpha | Han Jisung, Alpha | Kim Seungmin, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Beta | Lee Minho, Beta | Seo Changbin, Coming of Age, Crown Prince | Hwang Hyunjin, Discrimination, F/M, Hwang Hyunjin & Seo Changbin are Best Friends, Hyunjin is not a quitter, Jeongin and Hyunjin are brothers, King | Bang Chan, M/M, Mates, Multi, Omega Verse, Omega | Hwang Hyunjin, Omega | Lee Felix, Self-Acceptance, Self-Esteem Issues, Soul-Searching, Unpresented | Yang Jeongin, how does one tag, i'll update tags as we progress, jeongin is a brat, lemme just dip my toes into the skz tag, of course this fic is gonna be a monster
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:20:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 38,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23679046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocolatechimkookie/pseuds/chocolatechimkookie
Summary: Hyunjin, the crown prince prepared to fight to hold onto his throne.Seungmin, a simple apothecary loved by everyone in his town.Jisung, an alpha freshly presented with a fire to prove his own worth.Minho, a warrior on the front lines who finds himself in the wrong place at the wrong time over and over again.The body drained of blood found in the woods reveals a trail of secrets that threatens the peace of the land as they know it, and a forgotten history now come to light may very well change their lives forever.(also known as the ABO/shapeshifter/royalty AU that gets far too complicated for its own good and may very well hurt you, let's have fun together guys)
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Hwang Hyunjin/Kim Seungmin, Lee Felix/Seo Changbin
Comments: 77
Kudos: 178





	1. Hyunjin

The surface of the water had been warm when he’d dived in, the strong rays of the sun hanging at the peak of the sky enough to bring up its temperature. Though as Hyunjin swims deeper and deeper down into the depths of the crystal clear lake, he can feel the goosebumps rising along the length of his bare arms. His lungs are beginning to protest, yearning to draw breath but Hyunjin resists. 

‘ _Ten more seconds,_ ’ he tells himself: ten more seconds and he’ll have broken his own record. Hyunjin can’t afford to remain idle, complacent, not when the vultures his father calls advisors are just waiting in the shadows to undermine him. His head feels light and there’s a strange ringing in his ears despite the silent tranquility of the water. He’s about to give up and resurface when something glimmering in the dark bottom of the lake catches his eye, the burning in his lungs forgotten for now. 

It glints not unlike the jewels they have stored in the crown vaults, yet Hyunjin still finds himself utterly bewitched by the brilliant shine. It’s not too far away, he could swim down and retrieve it no problem.

“Your highness?” the words are muffled through the water but his sharp ears hear it anyways, the voice familiar. Maybe he should swim up, check who’s looking for him. But yet he can’t seem to pull himself away from that sparkle in the depths, a strange sensation in the pit of his belly that tugs him down to the very bottom of the lake. 

There’s a voice that’s calling for him, a lullaby that drips with honey. It’s enchanting, _entrancing_ , and Hyunjin doesn’t even fight it as his eyes begin to slide shut—

“HYUNJIN!” the haze that had crept its way over his brain is sliced through by the loud cry from the surface, every nerve in his body alight as his lungs scream for air. He pulls himself through the water as fast as he can, his muscles stretched wire-thin.

He’s gasping for air before his head even fully breaches the surface, the needles pricking at his lungs vanishing at the first, delicious gulps of oxygen. His brain feels tight beneath his skull, his throat on fire from the water that had gotten into his nose. He flips his dripping wet fringe out of his eyes and grins weakly at the figure standing at the edge of the water with his muscly arms crossed over his chest.

“Changbin… Yo…” he calls out weakly, stifling the cough bubbling up his trachea. The older man looks pissed, his eyebrows drawn and lips pursed tightly together. Though, pissed off is Changbin’s default resting face, so Hyunjin doesn’t pay it much mind. He swims over to where his friend is standing, the clothes he’d removed before diving into the lake no longer on the ground but instead held tightly in Changbin’s grip.

There are a few servants wandering here and there, but Hyunjin had just stripped down on the assumption that none would be daring enough to steal the crown prince’s unattended clothing. 

Changbin has a hand around his bicep to yank him out of the water the second he’s within reach, scowling at the wide grin Hyunjin has plastered on his face. “You were under for far too long, you’re getting reckless, my prince,” Changbin scolds softly, wrapping a towel around Hyunjin’s bare shoulders and shooting glares at any straggling servants trying to sneak a peak at the half naked crown prince. 

“I lost track of time,” Hyunjin admits, thinking back on the half buried, shining object he’d seen down in the water. He dodges Changbin’s punch to the arm and rubs the towel over his dripping black locks, shaking his head to get the rest of the water off. 

He’s heard tales of objects cursed by beings older than the very land itself, of blood rituals and sacrifices that can turn even the purest of hearts to withering darkness. According to the stories told over campfires and whispered to young children in their beds, somewhere out there in their vast land was a hidden vault. They say that the vault is sealed with magic, that the six kings of old had come together to lock it away for all of eternity. 

The location of the vault had been lost over time, forgotten as the years went by. Some even believe that the vault itself is a mere children’s tale, that a hidden trove of old texts and magical artefacts couldn’t possibly exist. There are no records of it anywhere in the vast palace library, so Hyunjin has always been inclined to believe it mere myth. 

Though after what he’d seen in the lake…

“Prince Hyunjin? Are you listening to me?” Changbin snaps at him, his dark eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

Hyunjin nods quickly, though he already knows that Changbin knows he definitely was not. 

His best friend sighs, deeply enough for Hyunjin to feel a little offended. “I _said_ , that you shouldn’t be pushing yourself so hard, your injury has only just fully healed.” 

Yeji, his cousin and resident Lady of a duchy up north near the border between Wistraea and Daeracha, had brought her little girl down to the capitol to visit just a month ago. His cousin had entrusted her daughter to him and Changbin while she and her mate were having tea with the king: a foolish decision, really. 

The girl had somehow managed to wander behind an agitated stallion and would have been sent flying across the grounds had Hyunjin not managed to grab hold of the horse’s leg in time before it could land its blow. He’d broken his right wrist in the process, a worthy sacrifice in his opinion to not suffer Yeji’s wrath if she were to come back from tea to find her darling girl wounded instead. 

“And that is exactly why I need to get back in shape, I’ve spent far too long sitting pretty while my stupid wrist recovers,” Hyunjin points out, pulling his far-too-long hair up into as good of a ponytail as he can manage. He doesn’t bother putting his shirt back on, merely stepping into his trousers and setting off across the palace grounds without another word. 

“I would hardly call running fifteen laps of the palace grounds everyday ‘ _sitting pretty_ ’,” Changbin grumbles, following at Hyunjin’s heels. “Not to mention how you dragged me along on those runs as if I don’t already suffer enough.” 

Changbin complains with an almost remarkable frequency just how stressful of a life he has to lead because of Hyunjin and his antics, but Hyunjin has known him for as long as he can remember so he hardly pays his words any heed these days. He knows Changbin loves him, no matter how deep down the elder has buried it in his heart. 

Hyunjin flexes his right hand, any traces of pain from the injury now gone. His increased healing had helped speed up the process a little, but he’d still been banned from any physical activity involving his right arm for a good month. 

No matter, it’d just pushed him to get better at handling weapons with his left hand instead. 

“Whatever, you’re still an idiot,” Changbin grumbles, but after all of their years together Hyunjin knows there’s no venom behind his words. His tutor had intended for Changbin to act as Hyunjin’s whipping boy, but after Hyunjin had almost bitten off his fingers for raising a hand at the older boy, the idea had been quickly scrapped. Changbin had been raised instead to become Hyunjin’s personal guard, to stay by his side till death do them part. 

Almost like a marriage, but without all the fun stuff that usually comes along with one.

They hear the whispers before they even see the sources, a pair of chambermaids with buckets of laundry in their arms and aprons stained with yellow with unrinsed soap. “Crown Prince Hyunjin is so handsome,” they hear one of them giggle to the other, her voice still the high pitched ring of youthful innocence. “He’s so strong and so _tall_.” 

“Be quiet, Miyeon!” the other maid hisses as she elbows the first maid in the ribs, her head bowed as Hyunjin and Changbin make their way past them. She sounds a lot older than the first maid, wiser: probably why she knows better than to fawn over the crown prince like some glittery-eyed pup. 

The first girl doesn’t seem to listen. “But it’s true! He’s _beautiful_ ,” at that, Hyunjin sniffs at the air, picking out the scents of the two maids amongst the other smells wafting around the hall. The first maid is undoubtedly an omega, the almost sickly sweet smell of peaches clinging to her skin. The other is a beta, her scent muted, weak. “It’s such a shame though, he’d have made a wonderful king…”

It takes everything Hyunjin has to not whip around and growl at the girl, to pretend he hadn’t heard every wretched word and keep his feet moving forwards. It would do nothing for him to respond to the whisperings of the servants, and punishing them would only serve to tarnish his reputation even further. 

After all, their words are nothing if not true. 

“Your right arm is looking a little skinny, Prince,” Changbin murmurs, pinching at Hyunjin’s tricep with a soft snicker. Hyunjin can tell he’s just trying to distract him from what they’d heard those maids saying, and he forces a scowl on his face just to play along. 

“I’ll show you just how skinny it is later in the training room,” Hyunjin retorts, throwing open the doors to his bedroom and striding in. Changbin is reaching into his closet to pull out a fresh shirt for him before he can even open his mouth, tossing it over with a well-practiced flick of his wrist. Hyunjin catches it easily, pulling it over his head and doing up the laces in the front before Changbin can. 

Along with being raised to become Hyunjin’s personal guard, Changbin had also been trained from their youth to act as his attendant, well versed with Hyunjin’s daily routine as well as the various court procedures required of him. Hyunjin has his own set of servants to wait on his every whim, but he finds them more cumbersome than he’d prefer so he tends to avoid calling on them at all. 

Changbin seats him down on one of the many chairs littered around his bedroom and makes quick work of his unruly black hair, smoothing it back into a much more presentable knot for his appearance with the king. “You’re due for a haircut, Hyunjin,” Changbin’s gaze is focused entirely on him, just as it always has been. “The crown prince of Wistraea can’t be going around looking so unruly.” 

“I think what you mean is ‘ruggedly handsome’,” Hyunjin jokes weakly, trying not to betray just how his heart sinks down to his stomach at Changbin’s words. Crown Prince; the title feels more like a joke than his birthright these days. 

“No, unruly is right,” Changbin deadpans, already used to Hyunjin’s jokingly delivered narcissism. 

Hyunjin sputters in fake offence, turning on his heels to head down to the throne room where he’s expected by his father. “You’re just jealous, Binnie,” he doesn’t look back to check if Changbin is following him or not, his friend’s familiar muted scent of spearmint and charcoal never far. “Not everyone can be as effortlessly gorgeous as I.” 

“A tragedy, truly.”

“Stick around me for a few more years and maybe some of my good looks will finally rub off on you,” Hyunjin teases, ignoring the way his heart beats harder and harder as they draw closer to the throne room. 

“I’ll be by your side till the very end, my prince,” Changbin says simply, so matter-of-fact that Hyunjin finds himself smiling despite his nerves. He feels about ready to throw up by the time they’re standing before those grand, carved wooden doors, his nerves getting the best of him. It hasn’t always been like this, in fact there’d been a time when Hyunjin had never felt more at ease than when he was standing before the king, his rightful place.

Or it had been, once before. 

Changbin’s hand feels warm around his, callous roughened but still as comforting as it had been when he was five and waking up from a nightmare. “You’ve got this, your highness, you always do.” 

His breath is shaky, but at least his hands are still. 

“I’ll see you later, Changbin,” he whispers, keeping his gaze trained directly in front of him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Changbin gesture to the guards posted by the doors to open them. He’s momentarily blinded by the rays of sunlight shining in through the stained glass windows behind the large golden throne, but the two groups of finely dressed nobles standing at his father’s feet does not go unnoticed.

The rest of the palace has undergone the occasional renovation or repair every few years or so, but from what he’s heard from his tutors the throne room has remained untouched for the past millennium. There are whispers of enchantments placed on the room to keep it so beautiful despite the years to its name, and despite Hyunjin’s cynicism he can’t help but believe it true. 

Voices echo around the room like a symphony, the tall, arched ceilings covered in murals painted by the hands of masters long passed. When Hyunjin was still a pup, he loved to come and play in here with Jeongin, Changbin, and Minho. There was just something almost hallowed about it, something that made them feel like they had entered a different world the moment their feet passed through the doors. 

Then he had grown up, presented, and now the throne room doesn’t feel nearly as magical as it had when he was five. 

“Crown Prince Hyunjin, you’re looking well, has your arm fully recovered yet?” one of the nobles, Nayeon hums as he comes to stand before them. She’s one of his father’s nicer advisors, treating him with the same respect and trust as she did before he’d presented. 

Hyunjin dips his head politely towards her, trying not to let his scent betray the rush of anxiety flowing through him as the gaze of the other advisors come to settle upon him. “I’m doing well, Lady Im, I shall return to my training later today.” 

He awaits a snide remark from the others but it never comes; he supposes the old fogeys know better than to insult the crown prince in front of the king himself. His father is smiling widely at him as he drops to his knee at the foot of his throne, bowing his head as he’s been trained to from youth. “Your majesty,” he does not raise his head until the king addresses him. 

“My son,” King Chan gestures for him to stand, his kind eyes lined with the barest hint of his ageing years. “You’ve done remarkably with the trade deal with Solaneo, their king has sent his copy of the agreement just this morning.”

The meeting with the king of Solaneo had been held just last week, with Hyunjin himself travelling personally out to Solaneo to request an audience with them. It had been his most recent victory against the court vultures, with most of them having deemed the trip a lost cause before he’d even passed through the castle gates. 

For the past century, Wistraea has remained tense neighbours with Solaneo, with their past status as allies having been dissolved by a spat of bad blood between their kings of the time. It had been a difficult task to research on just why their treaty had been nullified all those years ago, with most of the records either biased or damaged by time. 

But Hyunjin had done it. 

_Him._ No one else. 

Despite all of their words, despite all of their discouragements; Hyunjin had singlehandedly negotiated one of the most difficult trade agreements in recent years. So just for today, he will allow himself to smile, to preen, to stop suppressing the scent he knows they will wrinkle their noses at in disgust. 

The scent of an _omega_. 

“Thank you, your majesty, it brings me great joy to hear your praise,” and it does, it always has.

Then the king says something that surprises even him. “Tell me, just how did you manage this revolutionary feat, Crown Prince?” 

But Hyunjin had told him all about it the very moment he’d stepped back onto the grounds of the palace, not leaving out even a single detail. King Chan may be many things, but forgetful is certainly not one of them.

So he explains, from the start of his research to his offer to King Taeyong of Solaneo. He credits his success to the collection of old maps he’d found hidden in a box in the back of the library, most of them faded to the point of unintelligibility. The one dated back around the time when Solaneo and Wistraea had fought was notably different to their maps today, with a small chunk of land that had once been within the border of Solaneo now considered Wistraean. 

With a bit more digging, he’d discovered the truth: that the Solaneian village had been annexed by Wistraea for trespassing onto Wistraean hunting grounds. King Taeyong had originally demanded for Wistraea to return the land to them, but Hyunjin knew that after so many years of being under Wistraean rule, simply handing an entire village of people over like they were nothing more than a bartering tool would be far too cruel. 

“That village will become the centre of the Solaneo-Wistraea trade route, with any goods purchased or sold there being tax free for either kingdom. The king agreed, so now we’re able to trade our fresh produce for their cattle and wild game,” he announces at the end of his speech, dipping his head towards the king. 

King Chan had always been beloved amongst the Wistraean people, his wisdom and his kindness a stark contrast to the kings that had come before him. Hyunjin has always dreamed of being a ruler just like his father, though that dream seems to be slipping further and further from his grasp with every passing day. 

The wrinkle lines by the king’s eyes are deep from years of smiles, his dimples as deep as they always have been. From the paintings he’s seen of his father and papa from the early years of their mating, Hyunjin knows exactly where he’d inherited his dashing good looks. They say that his papa was one of the most handsome men to walk the palace halls, that King Chan had radiated his love for him so strongly throughout the entirety of their marriage that the very stars shone brighter because of it. 

And it had been that very same love that had shattered King Chan’s heart to pieces when King Consort Hyunwoo had passed away. 

He can faintly hear the sounds of cheers and clapping from the nobles but Hyunjin’s gaze doesn’t break from his father’s. There’s an emotion that Hyunjin can’t quite read hidden in those warm brown eyes, the same brown as his. But somehow the way his father is looking at him makes his chest ache, his ribs squeezing in on his lungs so tightly he almost wants to cry. 

King Chan clears his throat, snapping Hyunjin out of his own head. “As a reward for a job well done, I will be hosting a ball a fortnight from today, to celebrate the brilliance of Wistraea’s Crown Prince,” he announces, one of his famous smiles spread across his face. 

There’s a spark of joy that flickers to life in his belly from gaining his father’s approval yet he still can’t seem to shake the feeling that something is not quite right, that things aren’t quite what they appear to be.

“Is there anything else you require from me, your majesty?” he asks, eyeing the sun through those stained glass windows as it begins to descend from its peak in the sky. 

His father shakes his head once. “That will be all, Crown Prince, you are free to go.” 

“Thank you, your majesty, I shall take my leave then,” Hyunjin bows deeply and takes two steps backwards before turning on his heels to walk out the door, just as he’d been trained to. Hyunjin lets out a heavy breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding once the doors are shut firmly behind him. That whole meeting had been masquerading as a success for him, as a sign that Hyunjin does deserve to be the crown prince, omega or not. A whirlwind of emotions are swirling around in his heart, but as he forces himself to walk away from the throne room all that settles in his chest is the dark, ugly feeling of dread. 

* * *

“Jeongin-ah~” he just about sings as he bursts into the room, startling the living hell out of Jeongin’s tutor and earning himself a killer side-eye from his little brother. “How’s my cutest little brother?” 

Jeongin, in pure Jeongin fashion, snorts and rolls his eyes, pushing off from the desk he’d been sat at and skipping over to Hyunjin. His tutor opens his mouth to protest but glances at Hyunjin and decides better of it, gathering his books and various instruments and silently exiting the room. 

His brother is a good three years younger than him, his cheeks still round with the fullness of youth. Jeongin hasn’t presented yet, but with how he’s been shooting up like a weed recently Hyunjin can tell it’s only a matter of time. 

Though unlike him, Jeongin doesn’t have the weight of the future of the entire kingdom resting on his shoulders, so he enjoys a lot more freedom than Hyunjin ever has. But Hyunjin loves his work, loves the responsibility, he always has. 

Which is why it’ll hurt so much if it all gets taken away from him. 

The air in his lungs feels as sharp as knives when he exhales, his skin cold. He hasn’t quite managed to shake off his doubts about the meeting earlier despite making a detour from training to come visit his brother, but if there’s anyone that can cheer him up it’s his baby brother. 

“How’d your meeting with Father go?” Jeongin hums as Hyunjin pulls him onto his lap and buries his face in the crook of his neck, not even bothering to resist the skinship monster that is his elder brother. Jeongin smells like sweet vanilla and bergamot, the soft and unobtrusive scent of an unpresented pup. 

“Really good, actually, I might actually have a shot now.” 

Jeongin wiggles around in his lap to face him, a wide smile on his adorable face. “That’s great, Hyung, I’m really happy for—“

“Did you see that _look_ on the omega’s face? As if he’d actually won against us,” both Jeongin and Hyunjin freeze at the sound of voices coming from the hallway outside, the familiar gruff snarls of the court officials making Hyunjin’s blood run cold. “The Solaneo trade agreement was a fluke.” 

“The boy was just lucky he met a king willing to listen a weak omega brat.”

There it is: the doubt, the hopelessness. Sure, he may have trained from the moment he could read and write and walk and talk to become King one day, but all those years ultimately mean nothing in face of the fact that Hyunjin is an _omega_. He can fight all he wants against the prejudice of the court, can form as many trade deals as he can with every kingdom in whole wide world; but in the end the law is the law. 

And the law says that only alphas can be King. 

He clenches his fists, hard enough that he can feel his nails break skin.

Jeongin waits until the footsteps have faded back to silence before hopping off of Hyunjin’s lap, looking at him head on with the most serious expression Hyunjin has ever seen on his little brother. “Please tell me you’re not letting some stupid old assholes upset you, Hyung,” Jeongin bites out, eyes blazing with fury. “You’re so much better than them, heck, than anyone in this whole _kingdom_. You’re stronger and smarter and more dominant than some of the alphas I know, just because you’re an omega doesn’t make you any less worthy of respect.” 

“I know, Jeongin, I know very well.” 

“Then? Why are you just sitting here and _taking_ it? You should have gone out and ripped their throats out for talking about you like that, or at least have them whipped for their insolence!” Jeongin growls, sounding like far too much of an alpha already. 

Hyunjin sighs, the cuts on his palms already healed over. “It’s not so easy, Jeongin. If I am to be King—“

“ _When_ you become King,” Jeongin cuts in. “There’s no one more suited for it than you are.” 

“I can’t fight the law, Innie,” he whispers, eyes downcast. “No omega _has_ ever or _will_ ever sit on that throne, and there’s not a single damn thing I can do about it.” 

“Hyung,” Jeongin wraps his arms around Hyunjin’s neck in a rare display of willing affection, rubbing his cheeks against Hyunjin’s to scent him much like he used to when they were pups. “If there’s anyone in this whole wide world that can defeat the impossible, it’s you, I know it. If you can’t fight the law, then find a way to change it instead.”

If only it were so easy but Hyunjin can’t find it in himself to crush Jeongin’s hopes, no when his own already lie like smashed glass at the very bottom of his soul. He gets up from his chair, smoothing down his clothes and patting Jeongin’s fluffy light brown hair. “Do you want to come to training with me? It’ll help you get into shape.”

The scoff Jeongin lets out is _almost_ rude. “No thanks, Hyung, now that you’ve helped me escape lessons I’m going down to the town for some well deserved fun.” 

“Be careful you brat!” Hyunjin shouts after him as the pup literally dances down the hall, not a single care in the world. He sighs, rolling his shoulders as he makes his way down to his private training room. 

He’d used to share the soldier’s training quarters before he’d presented, but being in a closed room with a sweating omega is _apparently_ enough to weaken the resolve of even the strongest of alphas. No matter, it just means more room for himself, which Hyunjin is more than fine with. 

Changbin is already halfway through warming up by the time Hyunjin arrives, his sleeveless tunic just starting to cling to his body from sweat. He throws a spare top over to Hyunjin which he pulls on quickly, not wanting to ruin his nice, presentable clothes more than he already has. “You’re late,” Changbin states, pulling a spear out of the weapons rack and poking a finger into the metal point to check its sharpness. 

“I went to see Jeongin,” he drops to the ground to stretch out his legs, not wanting to pull a muscle and put himself out of commission from hastiness. The wooden staff he’s been using to rebuild strength in his wrist feels weighty and solid in his grip as he picks it up from its position against the wall, giving it a few swings and rolling it over his wrist.

“How’s the little brat prince doing? Last I heard from his guard he was wreaking havoc in the kitchens,” Changbin snickers, tapping at Hyunjin’s shoulders with the flat of his spear to remind him to stretch them out as well. “Have I ever told you how grateful I am to be in your service and not your brother’s, Hyunjin?” 

“Certainly not enough,” Hyunjin retorts, swinging the pole over his head and stopping it right in front of Changbin’s face, the movement enough to ruffle his neatly trimmed hair. . His friend glares at him from behind the end of the pole and tosses his own spear aside, picking up another long wooden staff just like Hyunjin’s. 

Changbin cracks his neck and adjusts his grip around the staff, not taking his eyes off of Hyunjin for a second. For a moment Hyunjin can almost see his eyes flash the bright green of a beta wolf, studying him like a predator watches its prey. “Let’s dance then.” 

The sound that echoes as their two staffs collide is almost deafening, his muscles straining under the pressure. Changbin wasn’t appointed as Hyunjin’s personal guard without reason, the sweat beading up around Hyunjin’s temples and down his spine as they spar is proof of that. But guard or not, Hyunjin _will not lose_. 

He pulls back and ducks just in time to avoid Changbin’s swing for the head, smacking his staff into the back of Changbin’s knees to buckle them and gain the upper hand. From the ground Changbin manages to land a solid kick to Hyunjin’s legs, the air getting knocked out of his lungs as he falls to the floor. 

The other soldiers had never gone full out against Hyunjin when they sparred before, always too worried about harming the Crown Prince. But Changbin has never held back, not once. 

Hyunjin rolls to the side as Changbin brings his staff down hard on the ground right where he’d just been. “I must be losing my mind, Changbinnie, because it seems like you’re trying to kill me,” he pants as he leaps back to his feet and lands a solid blow to his guard’s forearm. 

“Don’t worry, Hyunjin, I _am_ trying my best to kill you,” Changbin growls, meeting Hyunjin blow for blow. He’s aggressive and fast, not letting Hyunjin breathe for even a second. His heart is pounding so hard he can hear it in his ears, but his head remains clear. 

There's always a weak spot, a tell; if only he can spot it. 

There! He sees Changbin shift the staff further down so less of its weight is sits on his right side: the side he’d hit just moments earlier. Hyunjin smirks, feinting to the left to shift Changbin’s weight before twisting to bring his staff down hard once more on Changbin’s right arm. The staff falls out of his guard’s hands with a clatter as Changbin stumbles, and Hyunjin wastes no time in pinning him with a death blow. 

He grins, shiny white teeth on full display. “Guess I win,” he simpers, extending a hand to his oldest friend to help him up. Changbin rolls his eyes and brushes back a few stray strands of hair out of his face, dusting off his pants once he’s back on his feet. 

The high of victory rushes through his veins like a drug, so potent he can almost taste it on his tongue. This is what Hyunjin loves, what he craves. Sparring with Changbin is the only time he gets to feel truly powerful, to feel like he’s still holding the reins on the path his life has been set down on. 

“I was going easy on your recovering ass,” Changbin grumbles, rubbing at the gradually forming bruise on his forearm with a grimace. The skin there is starting to look dark and mottled, an ugly mix of purples and reds. “Did you have to hit me so hard? My arm looks fucked now.”

“It’ll be all healed up in a few hours, you big baby,” he pokes at the bruise once, earning himself a yelp and a smack on the shoulder. 

“Not everyone heals as fast as you do, Hyunjin,” Changbin complains, though Hyunjin can already start to see the edges of the bruise returning back to its original colour. “This will take me at least a day, you got all the way down to the bone you ass.” 

Hyunjin shrugs, knowing Changbin isn’t really upset with him; he’s come out of training with far worse injuries himself after all. When he and Changbin are alone they abandon any semblance of formality they might put on in front of the other members of court; the perks of growing up together, he supposes. 

“Shall I kiss it better for you?” he offers, grinning. He makes a half-hearted attempt to grab for Changbin’s arm, exaggeratedly puckering up his lips as Changbin swats him away in disgust. “Come on, Binnie, a kiss from a handsome prince solves everything, the fairytales don’t lie!” 

His friend has a hand on the top of his head to keep him at arm’s length, shuddering at the thought. “First of all, fairytales are full of lies, secondly, your kisses are good for absolutely nothing,” Changbin points his chin in the direction of the metal bar they have bolted to the wall above the doorway, distracting Hyunjin enough to put some distance between them. “Give me two hundred pull-ups in three minutes and I might consider letting you kiss me.”

The metal feels cold beneath his fingers as he gets to it, not feeling the strain in his muscles just yet. “You know, anyone else would consider it an honour to kiss me.” 

“Yes, anyone but Minho-hyung and me,” Changbin is pulling out one of the tall training dummies they have in storage, and has lost his shirt somewhere along the way. “Speaking of Minho-hyung, do you know when he’ll be back?” 

Minho had been deployed down to the border between Wistraea and Prytaneion a few weeks back. The other kingdom had launched an attack on their coastal town, effectively cutting off Wistraea’s only access to the ports. The impact on their income from exports to other lands hadn’t been pretty, and any sort of agreement they’d attempted to come to had failed miserably. 

Hence, why the king had sent down their strongest knight to try and reclaim the land by force. 

“Last word we got from him was that they’d managed to push the Prytaneion forces down enough to open up a path to the sea, but Minho wants to drive them down even further before we reattempt any peace settlements,” oh yeah, Hyunjin is _definitely_ starting to feel the burn in his muscles. Just sixty more to go, just sixty more. “But Minho’s been shifted for most of the past few weeks so it’s a little difficult to get in touch with him.”

“I miss him, it’s so tiring dealing with you on my own,” Changbin grumbles, checking his stopwatch for the time. “One minute left, I hope you’ve been keeping count because I haven’t.” 

Hyunjin spares a moment to look back and shoot Changbin an incredulous look; some trainer he is. “Just forty more to go, I’ve made great time,” he lies, having gotten bored of doing pull-ups a minute and a half in. 

“That’s a lie, you still have fifty-six left,” Changbin calls him out immediately; the bastard had been counting after all. “So you’re ugly _and_ a liar, I’ll keep that in mind.” 

A lesser wolf would have given up around this point but Hyunjin is not a quitter, nor will he keep quiet while his closest friend is snarking him. 

“Ouch, Binnie, your words are _almost_ as sharp as your chin,” he pants, balancing his own on the top of the bar for a quick breather after his last pull-up. “There, I did two hundred _and one_ pull-ups in three minutes, now where’s my kiss?” 

He drops down to the ground with a grunt, closing his eyes and sticking his face out in front of his friend with a teasing grin. Changbin flicks at his forehead and tosses him a couple of ankle weights, a move that would have taken his eye out were his reflexes not close to godlike. He begrudgingly secures them around his ankles, snatching the wrist weights out of Changbin’s hands before he can launch them at him again. 

“If you’re so desperate for a kiss you can try your luck at the ball in two weeks,” Changbin leads him through some cardio without missing a beat, barely sounding out of breath as he holds a complete conversation with him. “I’m sure a pretty son or daughter of some village nobleman somewhere will be willing to kiss you if you beg nicely enough.” 

Changbin pauses, contemplating. “Then again, the ball’s supposed to be to celebrate your genius or something, right? Maybe you won’t need to beg after all.” 

“ _Please_ , anyone with half a brain can tell that Father’s just finding every opportunity he can to try and get me hitched, I’m the most eligible bachelor in this joint.” Hyunjin scorns, the added five kilos he has strapped to every limb not helping very much in keeping his voice steady. “And besides, Father literally _just_ announced the ball, how are you hearing about it already?” 

“You know word travels fast around these parts, the servants probably knew about the ball before the King even thought it up in that wise, wise head of his.”

‘ _That’s fair_ ,’ Hyunjin thinks, ‘ _secrets are basically a non-existent term here in the palace_.’

“So, Mr. Eligible Bachelor, have you gotten yourself a pretty new outfit for this ball yet?” Changbin asks as they both collapse to the ground, fighting to draw breath into their tired lungs. Hyunjin will never admit to how his fingers tremble as he works at the laces holding his wrist weights in place, and he has to elbow Changbin lightly in the cheek when the older boy catches sight of it and snickers. 

The palace seamstress had just taken a two month leave to go and visit her family in Daeracha, so if Hyunjin were to acquire a new suit for the ball he’d have to find one from the town and it all just feels like more hassle than it’s worth. “Would you find one for me, Changbinnie? There’s this huge fanfare every time I go down to the town and I’d rather not have a bunch of stuck-up alphas trying to protect me from some, I don’t know, _cabbage_ merchant that just happens to gets too close.” 

“Yes, wanting to keep our crown prince safe is _such_ an inconvenience,” Changbin teases, getting up off the floor and extending a hand to Hyunjin to help him up as well. Hyunjin had lost his shirt too at some point in their training, his nose wrinkling at the feeling of sweat trickling down his freshly tanned chest as he chugs down the glass of water Changbin hands to him. 

He sighs, exasperated. “You know what I mean—“

“Yeah yeah, Hyunjin, I gotcha,” Changbin waves him off. “You don’t need to explain yourself to me, I can basically read your mind at this point.” 

Hyunjin would hug him if they weren’t all sweaty and gross. Instead he settles for a wink, taking pleasure in the way Changbin pointedly ignores him. “What would I do without you?” he hums.

“Die, probably.” 

“Well now that’s just rude.” 

The gust of fresh air that rushes in as Changbin opens the door feels almost heavenly, cooling the heat rising off of Hyunjin’s skin in an instant. “Come on, Hyunjin, let’s go run past the soldiers’ training barracks so you can show them you don’t need their stuck-up alpha asses, eh?” 

Hyunjin smiles then, sharpened incisors glinting in the sunlight. “Oh Binnie, you do have the most wonderful ideas sometimes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Stays!!!! I'm a bit of a weirdo who likes to declare my love for a group by writing unnecessarily long fics for them so here we are, dipping them toes into the lovely tag that is skz. This is chapter one of what I plan to be a monster of a fic (like, longer than anything I've ever written before because how else to show my love for these bois amiright) and I hope you all enjoyed it so far! So far I've only written for Seventeen and X1 (do check those out if you're interested but I hope to do these lovely boys justice as well hehe. Leave any suggestions/tips below if you like, any bit of help or support I can get will be greatly appreciated huhu. I'll probably be updating pretty frequently because cough corona so let's all go on this journey together! 
> 
> EDIT: I decided that I hated my writing in this chapter and rewrote bout 60% of it so, hopefully this is better :D


	2. Seungmin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow Seungmin's chapter really just flowed for me, I love writing apothecary!seungmin it just fits so well omo <3 these first few chapters will all be kind of introductory chapters to the character and the world so do stick with me, I promise it'll get more exciting with more romance soon <3

The marketplace has always been a flurry of activity and scents, as strong and overwhelming as it was the very first time he’d visited. Seungmin lets his eyes slide close for a second, just breathing it all in. He loves this, he always has, being around people and seeing them go about their days, there’s just something strangely therapeutic about it.

“Seungmin-ah! Come over!” a voice calls out from somewhere off to the side and Seungmin turns to find its owner, his mouth splitting into a wide smile as the baker’s wife waves him over to her shop. He tightens his grip around his pack and makes his way over to her, letting her smother him with affection the moment he’s within arms reach. “You get handsomer every time I see you, come here you sweet boy.”

The baker’s wife squeezes at his cheeks, his arms, like a mother cat checking over her kittens. Her skin smells like warm bread and honey, sweet and almost intoxicating. “You’ve been well? I know Wonpil’s passing was especially hard on you…”

His chest aches with the reminder of his master’s death. Kim Wonpil had taken him in when he was only nine years old, had picked up the dirty orphan living in the streets and cleaned him up, fed and clothed him, taught him everything he knew about herbs and potions and remedies… The apothecary’s apprentice: his title, his _role_ for the past ten years. For the first time in years Seungmin had had a family, a father, or at least someone close to it.

But he is an apprentice no longer. No, now he has become the master.

His schedule for the past week and a half has been chock-full, from preparations for Wonpil’s funeral and burial, to obtaining the necessary licensure for Seungmin to legally replace Wonpil as the town apothecary. Tiredness fills him, weighing him down like lead in the very marrow of his bones. No time to stop and take a rest, no time to think, no time to grieve.

Perhaps now he can go home—that cold, empty home—close his eyes, take a rest. Seungmin deserves that much, doesn’t he?

“I’m fine, Mrs. Lee, just tired; it’s been a long week,” he replies after several beats of silence, just enjoying her warm, motherly scent for a little while longer. He doesn’t remember his mother, but he thinks that she smelled something like this.

The old omega smiles gently up at him, stroking his hair in a way that makes his eyelids threaten to droop close. “A very long week,” she hums before pulling a large cloth sack out from behind her, the strong aroma of fluffy, buttery bread wafting from the small gap at the top. “Here, take this home with you, it’ll keep your belly full and warm while you rest up.”

“Mrs. Lee…” there’s a strange warmth in his belly that has him smiling at the old woman despite himself. But this is far too generous of her, he can’t accept this. He rifles through the worn leather pack at his side for some money, tucking the silver coin into her palms and pushing her hands to her chest.

She shakes her head at first, but softens after a few minutes of insistence. No one can afford to say no to money, maybe except the royals. The baker’s wife taps him twice on the nose, a habit nearly everyone in town had picked up from Wonpil.

Their goodbye is chaste as she hurries back into the shop to handle some customers, but her smile is still warm as he waves at her through the clear window displays before continuing down his journey down the street. Seungmin can’t resist pulling out a small bun from his bag of goodies, the saltiness of the butter inside overwhelming his senses and filling him with a euphoria one can only really experience when eating delicious food.

A few more market-goers and merchants stop to greet him and offer their condolences as he passes but he doesn’t chat for long, eager to fall into his soft bed and sleep the rest of the day away. He’s just about rounding the corner onto the street where the apothecary is located when he feels a tug at the bottom of his trousers, looking down to meet the large round eyes of the apple-seller’s youngest daughter.

He kneels down in front of the girl so they’re at eye level. “Oppa, do you have any food? I’m really really hungry,” she mumbles, sniffing at the air. Seungmin remembers being around for her birth, remembers the panic he’d fought so hard to keep down as he’d scrambled around searching for whatever herbs and compounds Wonpil asked for.

“Where’s your mother?” he asks, peering around at the bustling crowd around them for any sign of the kind, if not slightly eccentric, apple-seller.

The girl catches scent of the bread in his bag and looks up at him with wide, pleading eyes, tugging at his shirt just as she’s tugging on his heartstrings. He pulls out a couple rolls and hands them to her, the bread looking absolutely humongous in her tiny hands. Her teeth are tearing into the bread in seconds, chewing and swallowing like she hasn’t eaten in days.

Eventually she stops to take a breath. “Momma’s apples ain’t selling well, people saying they don’t taste good,” she’s about to chow down on the second roll when she hesitates, lips hovering over the smooth surface. “I’m gunna save these for my sisters,” she explains though Seungmin hadn’t even asked, tucking the bread into her shirt to hide them from any snatchers. There are always going to be hungry people, no matter how prosperous a land might be.

Desperation is a strong motivator, hunger an even stronger one. Seungmin would know, after all, he’d been one of them before Wonpil had saved him.

She hurries off after a softly whispered ‘ _thank you_ ’, almost tripping over her own feet in her haste to find her siblings. Seungmin smiles and dusts himself off, making a mental reminder to stop by and buy some apples later on. He’s sure he’ll find a use for it somewhere in the shop, an elixir for serenity, perhaps.

“Seungmin!”

Felix is waving gleefully at him from the window of the jewelsmith’s shop, his hair a wild cloud of peach coloured strands poking up in every direction possible. There’s some grease on his cheek and a pencil tucked behind his ear, a common sight on the young apprentice jewelsmith. Seungmin resigns himself to the fact that he won’t be getting to sleep for at least another hour and heads over.

The second he’s close enough for Felix to reach he’s pulled into the boy’s arms in a tight hug, the sweet scent of wildflowers as strong as ever. “You’re finally back!” his friend rubs their cheeks together to scent him, and Seungmin almost _melts_ into the touch. “I’ve missed you loads!”

“Hasn’t Master Im been keeping you busy?” Seungmin asks as Felix finally releases him, poking at Felix’s freckles to make him laugh.

“He’s been working me like a slave, Minnie,” he holds up his hands to Seungmin, all knuckles and calluses. There are bandages around his thumbs and Seungmin can see a few small cuts along the tips of his fingers. “Look at me, I’m _wounded_.”

Seungmin would offer his condolences if he didn’t know that a few cuts and scrapes are just part and parcel of being an apprentice, instead he just pats Felix on the head with a wry grin. “He’s just trying to teach you, Lixie.”

He and Felix had met when they were fifteen, their respective masters having introduced them over lunch one fine spring day. Their meeting had been a long time coming after all, what with their respective shops being just across the street from each other. Seungmin recalls scrubbing the windows one day, not long after he’d celebrated his fourteenth birthday, when he’d spotted Felix being guided into the jewelsmith’s workshop by a tall, hooded man.

That man, as he’d come to learn later on, had actually been Felix’s father, dropping him off at his apprenticeship before sailing across the sea to foreign lands on business. Fourteen year old Felix was cute, all chubby cheeks and freckles and messy black hair that would fall in his eyes with every movement. Felix saves his days off each year for a two week long trip to visit the rest of his family overseas, returning with a funny accent that always lasts for exactly 1.5 weeks before going back to normal.

“I know, I know,” Felix grumbles, taking his hand in his and guiding him into the jewelsmith’s. The jewelsmith’s shop has always been a little magical to Seungmin, glimmering metals and precious gems worth more than his entire existence lining the walls and shelves. It’s always made Seungmin think of a treasure trove from children’s tales, full of hidden secrets and stolen artefacts. “The rose quartz you ordered last week has just arrived,” Felix says as he pulls him deeper and deeper into the shop, the arrangement of the jewels on display going from lawful to sheer chaos the closer they get to the cordoned off workshop at the very back of the store.

He’d almost forgotten about the rose quartz for his Charms of Peace, having ordered them right before Wonpil had passed away. Seungmin smiles sadly; perhaps he, too needs a little peace right now. The small bag of rose quartz Felix passes him over the counter feels weighty in his hands, and Seungmin places it carefully in his pack before he can forget.

“I’ll pass you the money for it once I’m back in the store, promise” he reassures his peach-haired friend, Felix waving him off with a flick of his wrist.

“No worries, Minnie, we know you always pay on time,” Seungmin has been in charge of placing the orders for the apothecary since he was sixteen, Wonpil having said it was good for responsibility or something else along those lines. “I have something to show you, close your eyes.”

Seungmin does as he’s told and obediently shuts his eyes, sensitive ears picking up the sound of Felix shuffling around him and rifling through drawers easily. Then his friend comes to stop right in front of him, so close Seungmin can almost feel his breath brushing against the peaks of his cheekbones. Felix is closer than an unmated omega should be around unmated alpha, but he knows he has nothing to fear from Seungmin.

“Look,” there’s a wide, proud smile on Felix’s face when he opens his eyes again, his gaze falling immediately to the delicate silver earrings pinned to a black velvet cushion in Felix’s hands. The vines of silver coil elegantly around tiny, glittering red rubies, cradling them like berries on a branch that crawls upwards on the earlobe. There’s a long silver chain that hangs from the back of the earrings, diamonds smaller than rice grains dotted at random intervals along it. His jaw is slack as he draws his index finger down along the metal, the icy cold chill of it almost soothing.

“They’re beautiful,” he breathes, looking back up at Felix with utter amazement. “Did you make these, Felix?”

The jewelsmith’s apprentice nods, a faint blush warming his cheeks at the praise. “Jaebum-hyung let me experiment with some of the leftover gems and metals from the last order from the palace, he could have finished six pieces in the time I took to make this, but I’m really really happy with it, Minnie.”

Pride wells up in his chest for his dear friend, knowing very well just how much Felix had struggled in the past with creating the pieces his master was so famous for. Jewelsmithing has always amazed Seungmin: the steady hands and creative eye it takes to practice it never failing to impress him.

“You did an amazing job, Lixie, if I had the money for it I’d buy those in a heartbeat,” he says, completely serious. Felix eyes light up as he laughs, punching Seungmin light in the arm.

“You don’t even have piercings, Minnie,” he points out, flicking at Seungmin’s earlobes with a wry grin.

“Maybe I’d finally let you pierce them for me!” Seungmin argues, pinching at his ears with a pout. In truth, Seungmin has always been afraid of piercing his ears, all the pretty earrings in the world insufficient motivation to warrant the idea of a needle stabbing through his flesh.

Felix rolls his eyes, tucking the ruby earrings back into a box and returning them to the shelf he’d plucked them off of. “I feel like maybe I finally have a shot at making it as a jewelsmith now, you know? Like maybe all these years of training and slaving away over drawings and measurements are worth it.”

“I know what you mean,” Seungmin smiles, patting Felix on the head. There’d been a time when he’d lost hope too, when there’d been failed elixir after elixir and the image of Wonpil’s disappointment imprinted on the backs of his eyelids. For a moment he feels the spiky thorns of envy creeping up his throat, because Felix may still be finding his way but at least he still has a master to teach him, to guide him.

And Seungmin is all alone.

“Seungmin, are you okay?” Felix must have noticed his sudden shift in mood, the shorter boy reaching up to place a hand on Seungmin’s cheek. “It’s only been a week since— If there’s anything you want to talk about or if you just need a friend, you know I’m always here for you.”

Then he moves his hand from Seungmin’s face, tapping his nose twice with a soft, comforting smile.

Seungmin almost wants to cry.

His friend opens his mouth as if to say something else when the bell above the door chimes out, indicating the arrival of a customer. Felix tries to shoot Seungmin an apologetic look but he waves him off, secretly grateful for the sudden interruption. The boy that has just entered looks no older than sixteen, with light brown hair that brushes at his eyelashes as he hops towards the display shelves.

Taking a moment to observe the customer’s mannerisms and clothes, Seungmin ultimately decides that he should be harmless enough for Felix to handle on his own. There have been far too many occurrences of mischievous kids coming in to try and snatch some of the jewels for themselves, from hunger or just the desire to fill their pockets. He tries his best to watch out for his friend, knowing far too well just how easily a group of rowdy boys can overpower a lone omega.

“I’ll see you around, Felix!” he calls out, blinking hard and turning with one last wave at the boy before Felix can say another word The apothecary across the road is dark and empty, and though it’s the only home Seungmin has ever truly known, he doesn’t think he’s quite ready to step inside when he knows Wonpil won’t be there to welcome him back.

The lump in his throat is almost painful as he swallows it down, gathering what’s left of his resolve in his sleep-deprived brain. He’s so tired, so, so tired. His chest grows tighter and tighter with every step he takes, the sight of the maroon curtains drawn across the windows of the apothecary chipping away at something deep inside him Seungmin had kept locked up since that fateful day just one week ago.

It is only when he’s turning the key in the lock, the familiar click of the door sounding more like a gunshot in the night. The hinges squeal loudly as he pushes the door open, and Seungmin remembers how Wonpil had told him to oil them before—

Seungmin’s lower lip trembles and he bites down on it hard, the rusty taste of iron flooding on his tongue. The past week had felt like he’d been picked up in a tornado, a flurry of things to do and people to see that Seungmin hadn’t actually stopped moving or thinking or working at all, had barely slept a wink.

But now that tornado has vanished, has spat him out in the middle of an endless, burning desert with nowhere to go. All alone, no one to save him this time.

So he breaks, sitting there in the middle of the dark apothecary in front of the large, heavy wooden worktable where he and Wonpil had spent the most of their days. But Wonpil is gone, has left for a land far, far away where Seungmin cannot follow. The tears he’s been holding in for the past week come rushing out of him in a torrent, wracking his body with sobs that don’t stop even long after the glittering blue sky above fades to a diaphanous black.

* * *

His head feels fuzzy and cottony when he wakes up the next morning, the sun yet to peek over the horizon. The sky is the light blackbird egg blue of a rainy day ahead, the air heavy with moisture. Seungmin pushes open the window to his room and sticks his head out, filling his lungs with the delicious dawn breeze.

Seungmin had crawled into bed at some point in the night, his skin sticky with the salt of his tears The rose quartz he’d gotten from Felix is still tucked away in his pack, safe for now. Exhaustion is truly a notable foe, and he feels it digging its claws into the very depths of his mind and sucking out any remnant of sense or reason he had left. He still has so many things to do in the shop, like organising the ledgers and replying to any letters that might have come by while he was away.

With Wonpil gone, all the responsibility that comes with being the official apothecary of the town now falls to him. And this is the capitol, no less, Seungmin can’t afford to make any mistakes, not if he wants to keep his head attached to his shoulders. It’s a lot of burden to bear, especially for a boy just freshly nineteen, but Seungmin can do it, he has to.

 _Wonpil_ had entrusted him with this role; Seungmin won’t let him down.

One of the first things he’d learnt from Wonpil upon becoming his apprentice was recognising herbs. There’s a book that Wonpil had literally shoved into his hands his first day on the job, in it the drawings and names and properties of every single plant that came through the apothecary doors. Seungmin had seen his former master adding to it with every new discovery he made, spending hours and hours meticulously sketching out each tiny leaf and stem until his eyes blurred and his hands cramped.

 _“Records, Seungmin, are the most essential part of being an apothecary,”_ Wonpil used to say, over and over again. _“What medicine goes to which patient? How many petals of Hyssop go into a remedy for phlegm?”_

He would squat down on the ground, tap his index finger twice against the tip of Seungmin’s nose. _“Being an apothecary is all about remembering, remembering your patients, your recipes, where the best honeysuckle for draughts of joy grow. You hold the fates of other peoples’ lives in your hands, you can’t afford to be lax, to make mistakes. Can I trust you to do that, Seungmin?”_

Seungmin draws a deep, shuddering breath, ignoring the stinging heat that blooms behind his eyelids. He must keep a level head, he has to stay objective.

Task one of the day: gather herbs for his candles, they were running low on stock for those the last time he had checked. It’s a simple, mindless task, Seungmin could do it blindfolded. He makes a quick stop to clean his face and teeth in the bathroom before heading out, deciding against washing his hair lest he give himself a head cold.

The streets outside are pin drop silent as he sets off from the apothecary, wicket basket and trusty hoe in hand. The moonblossom roots he’ll need for his sleeplessness candles are a little difficult to gather without the right digging tools, and if he’s lucky he’ll be able to find some tiger nut tubers for his cough remedy candies.

Some of the market vendors are already starting to set up their tarps and stalls for the day, sacks of goods deposited on the ground from aching backs. Seungmin’ll have to pass through the market to get to the forest where he’ll be collecting most of his herbs from today, his only blessing being the unreasonably early hour at which he’d set off.

He hums to himself as he ducks under the low hanging branches in his path, following the well worn trail to the spot where he knows a large patch of moonblossoms grow. His eyes feel hot and swollen from his night of crying but hopefully the chilly temperature will help them return to normal before he has to return to society. If he focuses hard enough, he can hear the soft cheeping of the robin nestlings on the tree five metres from where he’s standing, the sound bringing a smile to his face despite himself.

The air is rather frigid this morning, Seungmin is lucky his body runs naturally warmer than most or he’d be shivering all the way through collecting these roots. They’ll be heading into winter soon enough, so Seungmin needs to stock up before the earth freezes over and he can’t dig anything up at all.

Seungmin breathes in deeply, closing his eyes and just taking in the feeling of the woods and the _life_ that surrounds him. He loves this smell, of earth and plants and damp. He’s always felt at home in the woods, which is probably why he had slipped into the role of apothecary so quickly after Wonpil had taken him in.

 _Crack_.

The sound of a fallen branch snapping underfoot has him whipping around immediately, eyes scanning the trees and the bushes for any creatures that might have caused it. Seeing nothing, Seungmin’s heart begins to pound, anxiousness filling him. That sound had been too loud to have been caused by an animal small enough to remain unseen, but even as Seungmin sniffs cautiously at the air for any foreign scents he can’t seem to detect anything out of the ordinary.

He chalks it down to paranoia caused by his lack of sleep and tries to shrug it off, returning to the moonblossoms as he decides to collect some of the blooms as well for a sleeping potion. The roots are the most potent part of the plant, so they work well in his sleeplessness candles for a gentle nudge into dreamland. The blossoms are lot weaker in that aspect, so they’re better for direct ingestion as to not throw the insides into turmoil. Moonblossoms are pretty delicate as far as plants go, so he pours all of his focus into picking the largest blooms from the vines without hurting the main stems.

Every once in a while he’ll hear a rustle and shudder as goosebumps raise along the back of his neck, but he determinedly continues on. Though he still leaves the forest earlier than he’d initially intended, unable to shake the feeling that something— that _someone_ out there had watching him the entire time.

* * *

“Hello, Ms. Kim!” he calls out to the apple-seller as he approaches her stall, coin purse clutched tightly in his fist. There are too many snatch thieves out on the street for Seungmin to relax, especially now when every penny has to go towards the apothecary.

 _And_ himself, though he tends to forget that part sometimes.

He’d come out with the intention of purchasing some of her apples to help her and her children through this rough patch (as well as top up his own supply of serenity elixirs and potpourris with the apple skins). The bakers wife always made him and Wonpil the loveliest apple tarts whenever they brought her the apple flesh they hadn’t used in their own recipes before, so Seungmin had been rather looking forward to that sweet treat too.

Unfortunately for him, it would appear that he wouldn’t be having apple tarts anytime soon.

“You’ve sold out?” he tries not to gape at the empty table in front of him, peering subtly around the smiling apple-seller at the bushels she usually keeps at the back. Seungmin feels his jaw slacken; even those were completely bare too.

The apple-seller beams up at him, tears of joy in her pretty brown eyes. “Yes! Some lovely young boy came around and wiped out my entire stock, took every last apple I had!” she exclaims, shoulders shuddering with relief as she laughs in sheer, unadulterated happiness. “I’ll keep my family fed for weeks with all that coin, it’s almost too good to be true!”

Although slightly disappointed over not getting the apple tarts he’s been craving all morning, Seungmin can’t help the humongous smile that forms on his lips at the woman’s elation. “That’s wonderful, Ms. Kim, your little ones will be overjoyed.”

“They’ve been so hungry this past week, I need to make it up to them…” she trails off, guilt knitting her brows. She moves to start packing up and Seungmin steps forward.

“Would you like some help packing up? So you can get back to your little ones quicker,” he offers, already moving to push her table closer to the wall where it usually remains when not in use. He’s a lot stronger than her tiny frame so it takes him no time at all, and once he’s finished taking down the tarp pinned above them she’s just about ready to head off.

She’s staring at him with a strange sort of wonder in her eyes when he turns back to her, as if she’s truly seeing him for the first time. “You’ve grown up well, little Seungmin,” she whispers, moving closer to him and tapping him twice on the nose. He can’t help the rush of warmth that floods into his heart at the action, reminiscent of better days long passed. “If you ever need my help with anything, anything at all, you just call on me, alright little one?”

Seungmin is about to argue that he’s far from little these days but she’s already gone, hurrying away back to wherever her mischievous children are in a flurry of the long, flowing skirts he’s come to associate with her. He shrugs and moves along himself, slipping through the throng of bodies crowding the marketplace to return to the apothecary.

Out of the corner of his eye he spots a boy with light brown hair and upturned eyes exit the fabric store, a taller, older looking man following closely behind him pulling along what looks like a humongous basket on wheels. Curious, Seungmin moves closer to see the contents of it, his eyes widening at the sight of the pile of bright red apples within.

So this is the boy that had bought all of Ms. Kim’s apples…

Just who _is_ he? And why had he bought almost a hundred apples in one go?

By the time Seungmin has gathered his thoughts the boy and his companion are gone, disappeared into the crowd like they’d never even existed in the first place. Shoving his questions to the back of his mind, Seungmin finally manages to return back to the shop, flipping the sign on the window back to ‘open’ and settling in behind the front counter.

It’s been a few days since his trip to the forest to gather the moonblossoms, and he hasn’t dared to return there since because of that strange sensation he’d gotten of being _watched_. He’s an alpha, so he knows he could hold his own in a fight if it came down to it, but something about that presence out in the woods had felt wrong, _unnatural_.

And he wants absolutely no part in whatever that _thing_ is doing out there in the woods.

The bell on the door chimes and he gets up with a smile, recognising the husband of the woman he’d helped deliver her baby just a day prior. “Mr. Wang, you’re here for that salve for stretch marks your wife asked for yesterday, right?”

Mrs. Wang had been in a state of hysteria throughout the entirety of the birth, the combination of pain and the relaxation candle he’d lit sending her into a delirious ramble about how the pregnancy had turned her fat and ugly and given her stretch marks all over. Seungmin had only managed to get her to calm down enough to start pushing after promising her a salve that would help to reduce them.

Needless to say it’d been quite a stressful birth for Seungmin as well, but he hadn’t dared say a word in front of the new mother at the time. He rifles through his drawers to find the small clay jar of salve he’d whipped up and left to sit for exactly six and a half hours under direct moonlight the previous night. He hands it to her exhausted looking husband along with a small candy infused with mint and crushed sunflower seeds for energy, fearing for the safety of his shop because the poor man is looking like he might very well pass out right on his feet without it.

He writes out the application instructions of a small slip of parchment and ties it to the jar with some twine, not trusting the man to remember anything he tells him with the state he’s in right now. Seungmin is tucking the silver coin Mr. Wang had paid him for the salve into the money box in the top right drawer when the door to the apothecary is loudly, and rather unceremoniously flung open.

“You wouldn’t believe what I’ve heard!” Felix exclaims as he charges into the store like a raging bull, almost flying right over the top of the counter as he grabs for Seungmin’s shoulders.

Seungmin, reasonably flabbergasted at being so suddenly accosted by the freckly omega, merely sputters, feeling a little dizzy from how Felix is positively _shaking_ with excitement. The apothecary is filled with the strong, sweet scent of wildflowers and musk, radiating from Felix’s skin like a perfume.

“So, what is it?” he gives in and asks, knowing Felix is just dying to spill the news. Felix squeals and shakes him back and forth, with Seungmin wondering just what he’d ever done to deserve this treatment.

“There’s going to be a ball in two weeks!” Felix just about shrieks, hopping on the spot slightly. “I’m being called in to perform with the troupe!”

Felix started working part time with the court performers a few years back, getting called in every time a large event was being held in the palace. It was a nice bit of income on the side for him, goodness knows apprentices don’t make any money besides a small weekly allowance from their masters. Seungmin knows that Felix loves to dance, and what better place to showcase your talents than in front of the very royals of the kingdom themselves.

“The ball’s to celebrate Crown Prince Hyunjin’s successes in the trade deal with Solaneo, or at least that’s the official reason they’re giving anyways.”

Seungmin, though ecstatic for his friend, still doesn’t quite understand why Felix had thought that this news was worthy of nearly yanking him right out from his seat for. His confusion must show on his face because Felix starts to giggle, grabbing for his hands.

“Isn’t it obvious, Minnie? They’re trying to find Crown Prince Hyunjin a mate!” Felix says, looking utterly perplexed as to why Seungmin is still not getting it. “The invitation has been extended to every unmated alpha in the kingdom, including you!”

_Ah…_

Seungmin sighs in exasperation. “You could have said that part earlier and I would have understood, Lixie!” he pinches at Felix’s cheeks, earning himself an annoyed swat on the arm from the omega. “But it doesn’t really matter to me, Felix, I couldn’t possibly become Crown Prince Hyunjin’s mate.”

“But why not!”

“Because I have responsibilities here, Lixie, this apothecary won’t run itself you know,” he jokes, gesturing widely to all of the plants and products he has haphazardly displayed around the store. “And besides, whoever becomes Crown Prince Hyunjin’s mate will be the king, that’s a _humongous_ responsibility to take on and I’m definitely not worthy of it.”

Felix pouts, crossing his arms over his chest. “I think you could do it…” he mumbles, averting his gaze. “Crown Prince Hyunjin is really… He’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, and I’ve heard that he’s kind to all of the servants working in the palace.”

“It’s a shame then, that he presented as an omega and not an alpha, he would have been a great successor to King Chan,” Seungmin muses but Felix shakes his head, a fire in his large round eyes.

“It’s not a shame,” Felix’s fists are clenched at his sides, his voice low and serious. “With him on the throne it feels like… Like omegas are actually worth something more than just being a vessel for breeding, you know? Everyone knew I was going to present as an omega, right from when I was little, so getting the jewelsmith to take me on as an apprentice was almost impossible.”

“Lixie…”

“But then with Crown Prince Hyunjin on the throne, people are finally starting to see that omegas aren’t just small and weak and helpless,” Felix continues, cheeks flushed. “I hope they change the law for him, I hope he becomes King, that’ll really show all those alpha supremacists that we omegas have just as much of a right to our own lives as they do!”

Seungmin reaches over and pulls Felix into a hug, stroking his hair to comfort him. He’s certainly intrigued now, fascinated with the crown prince that Felix seems to think so highly of. Perhaps he will go to the ball after all, just to see if Felix’s words are true.

He takes Felix’s small hand in his. “Come on, I’ll walk you back to the jewelsmith’s,” he says. His friend’s scent is so strong a beta could probably smell him from two streets away, Seungmin doesn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea and approaching him because of it. Felix nods, letting himself be guided out of the apothecary and across the road.

There’s a short, black haired beta standing in front of one of the wall shelves when he and Felix walk in, staring at the pair of gold earrings displayed there with such intensity Seungmin wonders if they might just melt from the stress. He jumps and whips around to look at them at the sound of the bell, narrow eyes pausing on Seungmin to observe him before turning his focus on Felix.

Or more specifically, Felix’s _neck_.

Seungmin can tell the beta is checking for a mating mark, can tell how the two of them must appear to a stranger who doesn’t know them. The scent of spearmint intermingles with the already strong aroma of wildflowers coming from Felix, the omega’s eyes locked on the stranger’s so intently Seungmin feels like he might gag from the potency of it all.

After a moment longer of the pair eyeing each other up in silence, Seungmin clears his throat, starting to feel rather uncomfortably like a third wheel in this equation. Felix snaps out of whatever place his hormones had taken him to and shoots the beta a shaky smile.

“Hi! I’m the jewelsmith’s apprentice, there anything I can help you with?” he asks, moving to the beta’s side. Seungmin debates between leaving the two to their blossoming romance and staying to make sure Felix is safe, ultimately deciding on the latter since he doesn’t recognise the beta from town. He ambles over to a necklace display on the other side of the store, keeping his ears out for any signs of distress from his friend.

The beta’s voice is low and husky, though his words are accented with a formality that Seungmin doesn’t often hear amongst the other townsfolk. He speaks like a noble, so perhaps he’s a member of one of the noble families that live in the upper end of town looking for some new jewels for the upcoming ball.

Seungmin glances back just in time to see the beta pull out a large folded sheet of drafting paper, the kind that builders use. Though the design sketched atop is definitely not one of any building, instead the rich, flowing outline of a noble’s clothing. “I’m looking for some jewelled buttons to go along with this design, can you make those here?”

“Of course!” Felix nods, sounding almost too eager. “Do you have a budget in mind, sir?”

The stranger shakes his head. “No, these buttons just need to be of the highest quality you can possibly create, money is no issue.”

A fabulously rich noble, then; Felix might have just struck gold with this one.

“Master Im isn’t in right now, but I can have sketches sent over to your residence if—“

“No! I mean, no, there’s no need for that, you can just have the buttons sent over to the seamster’s shop two rows down from here at least a week before the ball, he’ll know what to do with them,” the beta instructs before sticking a hand into a fine leather pack slung across his torso and withdrawing a large, jingling pouch. Seungmin feels his jaw drop as the black haired boy pulls out five gold coins and slides them over to Felix who looks equally as stunned. “This should be sufficient for a deposit, right?”

Felix nods, staring at the shiny gold pieces as if they hold the very secrets of the universe in their gleam. “Y-yes, that will suffice,” he stutters, trying not to tremble as he takes the coins and tucks them away behind the counter. “If you could tell me your name, please.”

“It’s Changbin, of house Seo,” the beta says, dipping his head politely despite the fact that he’s most likely miles above Felix in status. He’s about to turn and leave when something else catches his eye, Seungmin watching as the beta strides over to the shelf on the wall where the earrings Felix had made sit glimmering against their velvet pillow.

He makes to reach out and touch them but thinks better of it and withdraws his hand at the last second. “How much is this?” Changbin asks, eyes not leaving those beautiful silver earrings for a second. Seungmin glances at the small, thin hoops hanging from Changbin’s ears, wondering if he was interested in Felix’s earrings for himself or for someone else.

Seungmin sees Felix sputter, unprepared to be asked about his own creation when Master Im’s were spread all around the shop. “Uh, um… Fifty silvers?”

Some of Master Im’s smallest creations have sold for far higher prices, so fifty silvers is fairly reasonable for the delicate ruby earrings. Changbin nods, unperturbed. He reaches back into his money pouch and pulls out three gold pieces instead, handing them to a gaping Felix who looks like he might spontaneously combust at any moment.

Felix dives into his own pockets to find change but Changbin stops him. “It’s okay, keep the change, consider it a gift.”

He gives Felix one last shy smile, taking the earrings off of the shelf and tucking it into his pack without another word. Changbin nods tersely at Seungmin before exiting the shop, leaving the two behind in stunned silence.

“What just happened?” Felix breathes, cradling the golden coins in his shaking hands. “That man—Changbin—he had a bag full of _gold_ , I didn’t see a single silver or bronze in there!”

Seungmin shrugs, equally perplexed. Even the local noblemen weren’t as casually wealthy as Changbin had appeared, and judging by the clothing sketch he’d passed to Felix, he was certainly no ordinary lord. “You better get Master Im to put his order on high priority, best not to upset a man with that much money to spend.”

Felix pales, nodding hurriedly. “I better catch up on the other orders so Jaebum-hyung can focus on Changbin’s,” so flustered that he’s hurrying off into the workshop without even saying goodbye, muttering to himself about polishing and cutting and other things that Seungmin can’t make sense of.

Seungmin breathes in deeply and heads back to the apothecary, a thousand questions still bouncing around in his mind. The store is thankfully empty when he returns, so he gets right back to cutting up the tiger nut tubers he’d left to soak in honey under the midday sun. Some say that apothecaries are secretly sorcerers in disguise and Seungmin can’t say that’s completely untrue: there’s definitely a little magic in what he does.

He can feel it sometimes, warm and buzzing in the tips of his fingers as he sifts through pastes and powders, when he whispers soft prayers to the moon or the sun to watch over his herbs and his elixirs.

But perhaps there’s little bit of magic in everything, after all, he’d seen it in Felix’s eyes the moment he’d laid gaze on Seo Changbin.


	3. Jisung

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are with Jisung's chapter!!! Somehow I struggled a lot more with capturing him than I did with Hyunjin or Seungmin, but I'll keep working on it till it gets better. I hope you all enjoy the chapter and feel free to leave some comments and chat with me, it really makes my day to hear from you all <3

“Shall we make camp for the night, Prince Jisung?” his guard has weariness drawn into every line and arch of her angular face but her eyes remain bright and alert. Jisung frowns, squinting down at the map in his hands in the dim light of their lit torches. The sun has long since set, drowning their company in the overwhelming darkness of night. “The horses need to eat and rest, even if you seem to think that you don’t.”

Jisung glares over at Ryujin and tucks the map back into his saddlebag, dismounting from his horse and shooting her an expectant look. “Well? Come on then, let’s set up camp.” he guides his mare to a nearby tree and ties her reins around a low hanging branch, giving her a gentle stroke along her nose. She’s been an exceptionally good girl for him this past month, with not even a grunt of a complaint to be heard despite their long, hard hours of travel.

Then again, she’s been cooped up in the palace stables for far too long anyways, so Jisung supposes she’s just enjoying the feeling of freedom as it comes. The other four soldiers in his company busy themselves with setting up the tents and getting a fire going while Ryujin approaches him off to the side, her short, chin length hair looking a little worse for wear from their many days on the road.

“Your highness, is there an explanation for why you’ve been pushing us on without rest for the entire day?” she hisses softly, glancing quickly over her shoulder at the other soldiers to ensure they’re not listening in. A crackling sound cuts through the silence of the forest as a spark finally catches on the dry moss they’ve used as kindling and creeps up the twigs the soldiers have gathered from the forest floor. She softens a little at the deep seated exhaustion she sees on his face, her voice a little gentler as she speaks again. “You know I will listen to anything you have to say, Prince Jisung.”

He shrugs, sighing deeply. “I’m just ready for this all to be over, you know? I want to go home.” he admits, eyes trained down on the leaf-littered forest floor in shame. “I know this is a great honour and a huge responsibility but…”

Ryujin’s expression softens and she places a hand on Jisung’s shoulder to comfort him. “This journey shouldn’t have fallen to you, my prince.” her voice is low, tinted at the edges with the barest hint of anger. “The Mourning has always been carried out by the first born of the family, your brother—“

“Don’t mention that bastard in front of me.” Jisung cuts her off with a hiss, the mere _thought_ of his elder brother enough to flood his veins with fury. “He’s probably off partying back home in the capitol, probably doesn’t even care that his father is _dead_.”

His brother had barely even shed a tear the morning they were told that the king—their _father_ —had passed away at some point in the night, had just delegated for him and their sister to handle his funeral procedures and returned to whatever goddess forsaken activity he’d been partaking in prior. The memory still brings Jisung’s blood to boil.

_A man like that doesn’t deserve to be King._

The tree doesn’t deserve the kick he lands on it but he does it anyways, turning on his heels in a blind rage and seating himself down on a fallen log by the growing fire. “How much further until we reach Daemás?”

Daemás is the final stop on their ritual journey, a bittersweet end to the month spent on the road. The Mourning had begun in Rosadaell, their capitol city, the night their father’s death had been announced. They’d cremated him in the temple under the blessing of moonlight, had prayed throughout the night for the Moon Mother to guide him safely into the Beyond as the tongues of his flame roared high into sky.

Jisung hadn’t allowed himself to cry that night, not when he had to be his grieving mother and sisters’ pillar of strength. Instead he’d held his mother close, pressed kisses to his sisters’ hair, blinking away his tears until he was back in the solitude of his bedroom the next morning where he let finally himself sob and cry and _break_ until the sun was setting on the horizon once more.

It’d been then that he was told he was to set off on the mourning journey across the kingdom in the place of his elder brother, though it’d been tradition for the eldest child of the family to do so for hundreds of years. Jihwan had feigned some illness that supposedly rendered him unable to travel, though Jisung knew from the icy smugness in his elder brother’s eyes that there was not a single thing keeping him from the journey but his own unfilial negligence.

Ryujin hands him a water skin without a word, knowing better than to speak before letting Jisung cool down from the heat of his irritation. A few moments pass in silence, with not a sound to be heard besides the chirping of the crickets and the rustling of leaves in the wind. Eventually Jisung exhales softly, offering his guard—his _friend_ —an apologetic smile.

“We’re about half a day out from Daemás, less if we ride the horses as hard as today.” Ryujin reports, flattening their map out on the rough forest floor and tracing her finger along the road they’re currently travelling on. “If we set off tomorrow before dawn then we’ll arrive by high noon.”

He should try to get her pay increased, she puts up with far too much of his shit. Jisung nods, watching as she rolls up the map and barks out an order for the other soldiers to get in position.

The silver urn holding his father’s ashes is rather weighty, the separate carriage they’re using to transport it undoubtedly slowing their travels. But it _is_ tradition, and Jisung is nothing if not good at following instructions. He waits until his company are spaced evenly around him in a large circle, foreheads pressed against their folded hands on the ground as they kneel in prayer.

“ _By the light of the Moon, by the grace of the Stars, I offer my spirit and self to thee._ ” he whispers, head tilted up towards the brilliant light of the moon. “ _Watch over this sire of mine, show him the path to the great Beyond and bless his soul with thy love.”_

The words had been drilled into him before he’d set off on his journey, his own sister being the one to teach him. Knowing his own ability to forget even the most important of things sometimes, he’s truly grateful for Daon’s insistence that he repeat them at least three hundred times before he was allowed to pass through the palace gates.

Taking a deep breath, Jisung bends forward to press his lips to his knuckles, and with that their nightly prayer is complete. By the time he returns Ryujin has a bowl of their rations held out to him: some mixed grain along with the remainder of their dried beef. It’s not particularly appetising, especially when Jisung is used to the delicacies served back in the palace, but he’d learned quickly after a few nights on the road to not be picky about his food.

At least tonight’s meal has been seasoned a little, the taste of the salt on Jisung’s tongue enough to make his stomach rumble. He scarfs down his food a little faster than he should, adding his bowl to the pile of dishes to be rinsed off before any of his men are even halfway through. His tent is already set up so he retires to it immediately, kicking off his boots and crawling in. The bedroll feels like a soft cloud beneath his aching joints, his eyes threatening to slide shut at any moment.

He never realises just how tired he is until he’s lying horizontal; he’d probably keep pushing himself until he dropped if Ryujin didn’t force them to make camp each night. Jisung uses the last bits of his energy to pull off his jacket and shirt, bundling them roughly into a ball-like shape to act as a makeshift pillow. The air outside the tent is chilly from the approaching tendrils of winter, but Jisung has always been pretty resistant to cold even as a pup.

He dreams of his father again that night, of the smile the people of Daeracha had adored and the smell of sweet oranges that had once clung to his skin.

* * *

“You should wash up before we enter Daemás, your highness.” Ryujin hands him a fresh set of clothes and a wash cloth, a hint of amusement in her sharp eyes as he pouts. Jisung hates bathing outdoors even with a company of five keeping guard over him—something about it just makes him feel too exposed, too vulnerable.

He sniffs at his white shirt and pulls a face, ignoring Ryujin’s amused smirk. He does need to keep up the appearance of the royal family after all, a prince can’t be going into town smelling and looking like he’s been rolling in the mud all day. Begrudgingly, he takes the clothes from her and stalks down to the river they’d scouted earlier on, bracing himself for the onslaught of icy cold water as he dips in.

They’re about a stones throw away from the town, and Jisung can just about see the first row of buildings from atop his horse. They could head straight there now, though all of them are in need of a bit of a freshening up seeing as the last time they’d all bathed had been at an inn in the last town three days ago.

Ryujin and the other soldiers finish bathing quicker than he had, their teeth chattering loudly as they return to the clearing. They hadn’t unpacked anything upon stopping in the clearing, merely removing their clean clothes from their saddlebags and trudging off to the river with gritted teeth. His oldest friend is looking absolutely miserable as she pulls herself up onto her horse, her short hair dripping with freezing cold water.

If it were any other person he’d worry about them catching a head cold, but he doubts that even the most fearsome of sicknesses would dare attach themselves to Shin Ryujin. After all, it’s not just any eighteen year old girl that can become the personal guard to the prince second-in-line for the throne.

Jisung smells the town before he sees it, the intoxicating headiness of burning incense and herbs enough to make his head spin. At the other end of the town he spots the tall spires of the temple of Lunuë, the dark green ivy that creeps along its white marble walls blending it into the endless sea of trees and hills beyond.

It’s a lot different from the temple they have back in the capitol: all honed edges and stark lines amongst the hilly fields of the palace.

The people gathered by the edge of the town are dressed in the white robes of mourning much like Jisung and his company, their grief painted plainly upon their faces as they spot the carriage that holds his father’s urn. King Daniel had been dearly loved, the tears that Jisung has seen in every town and village he’s visited this past month is proof of that.

They kneel as Jisung rides by, heads bowed low so Jisung can’t see their faces. Perhaps it’s better this way, it makes it easier for him to ignore the niggling urge inside of him to do something terribly undignified like _cry_.

His mother has always said that he’s the softest out of all her children, the trait that had been the cause of most of his childhood bullying. But he’s an alpha now, he can’t afford to let himself look weak anymore.

“Prince Jisung.” the black haired boy standing before him does not kneel, nor does he bow as Jisung turns his gaze to him.

“Sungho.” he replies with equal disdain, wondering just how much trouble he’d get in if he were to give his cousin a black eye.

His eyes carry a wicked gleam as he stares up at Jisung, a familiar smirk quirking up the corner of his lips. “We’ve prepared your accommodations for the night, if you and your company would like to follow me.”

It’s only Ryujin’s warning glare that keeps him from doing anything stupid as his cousin turns on his heels and leads them to his estate, steps filled with the same pompous bounce that Jisung remembers far too well from his childhood days. The streets grow quieter as they move further from the welcoming mass of townspeople, the houses going from worn to polished.

‘ _The divide of the rich and the poor’_ , Jisung notes silently to himself.

With Daemás being home to the main temple of the kingdom, Jisung’s father had deployed one of his younger siblings to watch over the town before Jisung had even been born. Though he’s met his multitudes of aunts and uncles and cousins in passing during the occasional ball thrown back in the capitol, he’s never been particularly close to any of them.

 _Especially_ this one.

“You haven’t changed much since the last time I saw you, Jisungie.” this time he doesn’t bother holding back his warning growl; Sungho may be of the same blood but he is in no way Jisung’s equal. He relishes in the glint of surprise that flickers over his cousin’s face at the sound, obviously not expecting for _itty-bitty-Jisungie_ to actually stand up for himself. He recovers quickly though, fixing that loathsome smirk back on his lips. “ _Oh_? Seems like Jisungie’s grown a backbone, is it because your little girlfriend is watching?”

This time Ryujin is the one that snarls, her hard leather reins straining beneath the force of her grip. Ryujin’s injected enough of her dominance into it that Sungho actually flinches, the tips of his ears flushing red. Sungho and the rest of Jisung’s old bullies have always been more afraid of Ryujin than of him, a fact that had filled him with equal parts resentment and embarrassment for years before he’d presented.

 _‘Go run off to mummy, omega brats like you don’t deserve to be princes.’_ Jisung clenches his fists at the memory; he won’t let himself be walked on like that again.

Because he’s an alpha now, an alpha strong enough to teach his bastard of a cousin a lesson.

 _‘I’m sorry, Father,’_ he looks up to the sky in apology before he raises his hand in a fist to bring his soldiers to a stop, dismounting from his horse and marching up to Sungho before he can think twice. Perhaps he should have kept his height advantage on his horse, because now his cousin is at least half a head taller than he is and looking far too smug about it for Jisung’s liking.

“It would do you well to not speak to me like that again if you wish to keep your tongue, Sungho.” his voice is level, tamping down the flaring annoyance in the pit of his belly. “Know your place.”

Sungho sneers in response, straight white teeth bared. “And what will little Jisungie do? Run crying to mum—“

The growl that erupts from Jisung’s chest is loud enough to echo along the narrow street they’re on, the billowing gusts of wind around them coming to a roaring halt. He draws on his core, willing the strength he knows lies dormant within to rise to the surface. From somewhere behind him he hears the soft crunch of gravel as Ryujin dismounts as well, but she knows Jisung well enough to maintain her distance.

His cousin squares his shoulders, but the subtle hesitance hidden behind the proud tilt of his head brings a smirk to Jisung’s lips. “Just because you’ve learned to bark doesn’t mean you’re any less of an omega, get over yourself,” Sungho raises his hand as if to shove him away but Jisung is faster, catching Sungho’s wrist in a vice like grip.

The hiss of pain that escapes between Sungho’s gritted teeth is like music to Jisung’s ears. All those years of torment and mockery, of beatings and bruises… It’s about time for him to return the favour.

“Kneel.” he commands, forcing Sungho down to his knees. His muscles strain as he fights to hold the larger man down, the hard days of training with Ryujin finally paying off. Sungho resists him with all of his strength, swinging wildly at Jisung’s face with his free hand. He blocks the punch before it even gets anywhere near, baring his rapidly sharpening canines in warning. “ _Kneel_.” he repeats again, injecting as much dominance as he can into the single syllable.

This time it’s enough to buckle Sungho’s knees, the older wolf falling to the ground with a loud _thump_. The weight of Jisung’s alpha dominance presses heavily on his cousin’s shoulders, holding him down despite his thrashing fury. Sungho stares up at him, eyes wide with disbelief.

“You’re an alpha?” he whispers, palms bleeding from where they’ve scuffed against the rocks. He makes to get up but Jisung doesn’t relent, snarling at the kneeling man to keep him in place. “But- But you can’t be- You-“

Jisung grabs at Sungho’s short black hair, pulling roughly at the strands so Sungho has no choice but to look at him straight in the eye. “That’s right, I _am_ an alpha,” he whispers; a viper ready to strike, “a stronger one than you’ll ever be.”

The sheer terror that flits over Sungho’s features is enough to sate him, so he shoves the man away from him without any fanfare and dusts off his hands. “Run off to _daddy_ and tell him you’ve made an enemy of a prince of Daeracha, my company and I will find our own lodgings for our stay here in Daemás.”

Sungho nods frantically, scrambling away from their group and taking off around a corner, disappearing from sight. Jisung rolls his shoulders and turns back to his soldiers, unprepared for the wide eyed awe he sees on their faces. Ryujin is smiling at him like a proud mother-hen, arms folded casually over her chest.

“You should put those away before we get to an inn, Prince Jisung,” she grins, pressing his reins into his hands. At the sight of Jisung’s confusion she unsheathes the short dagger she has secured to her hip, holding the polished blade up to his face for him to look at his reflection. His normally dark brown eyes have turned the icy blue of an alpha wolf, his canines sharpened and ever so slightly elongated. “You sure showed him, your highness.”

Jisung suppresses the childish giggle that bubbles in his throat, masking it with a cough and turning away from his guard before she can catch the redness that’s blooming across his cheeks. He hops back onto his horse and slows his breathing, willing his racing heart to calm. There may very well be hell to pay for the stunt he’s just pulled when he returns to the palace, but he thinks he can relish in the sweet satisfaction of a revenge well served for at least a little while.

* * *

The sweet melody of the priestesses’ song drifts weightlessly out into the night through the large open archways that forms the walls of the pavilion they’re in. They’re singing in a language that Jisung doesn’t understand but somehow the words make him feel sad anyways, chipping away at the grief he’d buried deep within him the day his father had passed. The moon is at its fullest tonight, round and glowing as it peers down upon them from its perch high up in the never-ending sky.

A pile of pure white lilies and chrysanthemums forms the bed upon which his father’s ashes lay, their petals the soft pillow for the king’s final slumber. His hands had trembled earlier on when he’d nestled the urn between the buds, his heart aching with the unspoken goodbyes he’d locked away exactly one month ago.

Throughout the entirety of the Mourning, the true weight of every stop he made in the kingdom hadn’t fully sunk in. He hadn’t stopped to think about how each night in a different town, a different place, was bringing him closer and closer to having to truly part from his father. There were even times when he’d forgotten exactly what this journey means, when he’d allowed himself to laugh and be merry.

But his father is dead, and this is Jisung’s final farewell.

He kneels before the altar in the centre of the pavilion with his forehead to the cool marble floor, biting his lip to hold back the tears teetering dangerously at the corners of his eyes. He’s been here long enough for his knees to ache, joints protesting against the hard, unyielding ground. Ryujin is out of sight but her scent still wafts over the intoxicating aroma of the flowers, her presence a comfort he’d never admit to seeking.

It is only when the dawn begins to break over the horizon that Jisung lifts his head, wincing at the sudden rush of blood down to his extremities. The priestesses gather by the altar to move it into the heart of the temple, lifting it up with the most tender of care.

Jisung takes a step towards them and bows one final time towards the gleaming silver urn. “Goodbye, Father.” he whispers, quietly enough that the other attendees of the ritual wouldn’t hear. He watches as the priestesses fade into the shadows of the temple, a final glint of silver in the rising daylight the last he will see of his father for the next five years.

He’ll return one day with the rest of his family to collect the urn, but for now it will remain here in the main temple to be blessed by Lunuë and ensure peace for his father in the Beyond.

“You’ve done well, young Prince.” the High Priestess of Lunuë has a kind smile on her face as she approaches him, pale blonde hair tied back in a long braid down her back. He can still remember the days when she was still just a priestess back in the capitol temple, guiding him and his siblings through their prayers when they were mere children. It’d been her that had inspired Daon to step down from her role as second-in-line and become a disciple of Lunuë instead. “It’s been a long journey for you, hasn’t it?”

Jisung bows deeply in respect for the older woman, brushing the back of his right palm over his lips before placing it over his heart in the traditional Daerachan greeting. “Thank you, High Priestess Sana, it brings me great honour to hear your praise.”

A twinkling laugh echoes through the pavilion. The High Priestess’s eyes are filled with mirth at his show of formality, playing along by first touching the tips of her index, middle, and ring fingers to her forehead and then pressing her interlocked hands over the centre of her chest. It’s an age old way of showing deep respect that Jisung had been taught as a child, and though there rarely comes a time where he finds himself having to use it, he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget it.

“You’re just as much of a charmer as you were when you were a pup, young Prince,” at this Ryujin lets out a rather undignified snort and Jisung whips his head around to glare at her. The High Priestess merely smiles at their antics, reaching up to pat Jisung once on the crown of his head. “I will pray for your happiness, Jisung the Star Blessed.”

He raises his eyebrows in confusion at the name the High Priestess has tacked on to his, however by the time he opens his mouth to question her she’s already drifted away into the depths of the main temple, with only the ends of her long, flowing skirt to be seen as they swish around the corner.

“Come on, your highness, we have a long day of travel ahead of us tomorrow, we need to rest.” Ryujin short bob of hair had been tied back into a ponytail at the base of her neck for the ceremony, revealing the sharp lines of her face that Jisung knows for a fact has entranced many a suitor back home in the capitol.

The sheer enervation that comes with staying awake all night is slowly starting to make itself known, and he can feel it in the dragging of his feet and the drooping of his eyelids as he follows Ryujin out of the temple and back towards the inn they’ve been staying at for the past few days. As they walk he spots several townspeople also dressed in the same white clothing that he and Ryujin are wearing; they had probably joined in with the prayers the previous night.

Somehow the thought of it makes him smile: a reminder of how dearly beloved his father had been by his people, _their_ people.

There’s an instance in his youth that Jisung can recall with absolute clarity. He’d been walking in the town with his father on one of his rare days off, perusing through the market stalls and just enjoying the bright summers day.It was quite unheard of for a king to walk amongst his subjects as much as King Daniel had, but his father had paid the naysayers no heed.

But he recalls how the townspeople had approached them, their arms full of fruit and fish and trinkets that glittered in the sunlight. It was clear that they adored his father, just as it was clear in the crinkle of his eyes as he smiled that he adored them just the same. He remembers the way his father had picked up the small orphan girl with the single bright red strawberry to offer and swung her about in the air, her ringing laughter spreading through the people like wildfire.

 _“Love and be loved in return, Sungie.”_ his father had always said.

“The people deserve another king like my father,” he says, not meeting Ryujin’s gaze as she turns to look at him. “I think that’s what he would have wanted.”

“Of course, Prin- _Oppa._ Every kingdom needs a good ruler.” her voice is hushed, with a rawness behind the syllables that reminds him of just how young she really is. It’s rare of Ryujin to forgo her formalities, even when they’re alone together, so he knows that she’s opening herself up to him as the friend he so desperately needs right now. “What are you trying to say?”

Jisung swallows hard. “I don’t think my brother will be that king, Ryujinnie.”

Her eyes widen in shock for a second before she’s schooled her expression back to normal, so quickly that Jisung might have missed it if he blinked. “So who will?” she breathes, quietly enough that Jisung could have mistaken it as a passing breeze.

But he doesn’t reply, not when the answer is sitting so heavily on the base of his ribs.

Ryujin pulls on the edge of his sleeve as they arrive at the inn, stopping him in his tracks. For the first time in a long time her eyes are entirely truthful, not a hint of the mask she wears to protect herself to be seen. “Whatever it is that you choose to do, House Shin will stand with you, _I_ will stand with you.”

He takes her hand in his and squeezes tightly, as much a reassurance as well as a promise in that single touch. Not another word passes between them as they climb the stairs up to their rooms, and the plushness of the pillow beneath his head is enough to send him straight into slumber before he can give his careless declaration a second thought.

For now he will sleep, gathering his strength as he dreams of simpler days long passed. After all, he has the entire journey back to the palace to reflect, to plan. And by the time they arrive home?

Well, then he will be ready to act.


	4. Minho

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !! Trigger warning: slightly graphic description of a bite wound !!
> 
> Wow this was a long chapter, I'm not that experienced with writing action scenes but I think this one came out pretty alright! Do leave any constructive criticism down in the comments, I love reading what you guys have to think about the fic so far! I hope you enjoy reading Minho's chapter <3

“Eat up, all of you, get some food in your stomachs and write to your families.” Minho commands, looking over his battalion from the fallen log he’s sat on. The cooks are handing out bowls of porridge to the hungry soldiers, the smell of the meat cooking over the fire making all of their mouths water. It’s been far too long since they’ve had the chance to eat proper food: cutlery and proper dishes and all.

Minho hasn’t been in his human form for at least two weeks, not daring to shift out of his wolf in fear of a sudden attack. In fact, the only reason he and his men have shifted at all is because of the temporary truce the leader of the opposing army had requested for in order to be able to send some of their wounded back home in peace. Though Minho had feigned indifference upon his meeting with General Jeon, the relief that had filled him at the older man’s words was innumerable.

The number of wounded soldiers in the camp has been increasing exponentially since the Prytanese forces doubled at some point last week, and the guilt over not being able to send any of his bedridden men home has been eating him up ever since. The two physicians they have in the war camp have been worked to the bone for weeks, so with the two-day truce in progress Minho’s glad to finally be able to give the pair some well-deserved rest.

They’ve been at war with Prytaneion for three weeks now, and what started as a simple skirmish between the two kingdoms at their borderlands had now escalated to a full scale invasion. King Chan had sent him down to Belris at the first sign of trouble, though by the time he’d ridden down from the capitol the Prytanese forces had taken over the entirety of their coastal town and cut off all of their access points to the sea.

Pushing them back enough to reopen a path to the ports hadn’t been without sacrifice; Minho will never forget the names and faces of the soldiers he’d lost to battle that day. It’d been difficult for him to shut off his emotions and continue on with his mission, the pain of losing so many of the comrades he’d trained and dined and spent so many of his days with almost too much for his heart to bear.

“Captain Lee?” he jerks up at the sound of his name. His lieutenant has a bowl of porridge in her hand and she’s holding it out to him with a tired smile. “You need to eat too, sir.”

He nods slightly, taking the food from her and almost moaning out loud at the taste of salt on his tongue. She leaves to get her own portion and returns not long after, seating herself down on the log beside him with a soft _huff_. The two of them devour their meal without speaking, with only the occasional chuckle or conversation from the rest of the soldiers filling the silence. 

There’s a sense of awkwardness between them that Minho hasn’t quite figured out how to quell yet, but he supposes it’ll fade if he just gives it a bit more time. After all, this is their first time working in such close quarters together. Prior to this war, the only times Minho had met Choi Julia was in passing at the balls King Chan enjoys throwing every so often. With her being a knight of the territory ruled over by Duchess Yeji up north, Minho hadn’t really had the chance to see her skills firsthand before she’d introduced herself to him as his assigned lieutenant three weeks ago.

And with Julia being as young as she is, she wouldn’t have even had the chance to attend any of the annual tourneys hosted back in the capitol. His first day at the war camp, this knowledge had worried Minho, angered him even. He’d resented the fact that he’d been thrown a group of fresh, untried knights and foot soldiers, wondering if he was being deemed too inexperienced to be trusted with a proper battalion.

Though he’d soon come to learn that as frail and small Julia appears in her human form, as a wolf she’s one of the most fearless and vicious Minho has ever seen. It’d taken him an embarrassing amount of time to realise exactly why he’d been given troops so young, with the oldest of his men being only a year older than himself. Older, more experienced soldiers would never have obeyed his command so wholly, would never have put their faith in a beta mere twenty-one years old.

But these men have, and Minho is grateful.

He finishes his porridge and hands it over to the cook, thanking him softly with the smile he knows can melt even the iciest of hearts. The boy flushes red in return and quickly hands him a few skewers of roasted rabbit, shuffling away without another word. Minho shakes his head fondly and heads back to his log; it’s good to know that his good looks haven’t diminished despite the many, _many_ days he’s gone without a proper shower.

“Here you go.” he hands Julia one of his rabbit skewers and she blinks up at him in confusion for a moment before taking it, sniffing lightly at the steaming meat.

“Thank you, sir.” she whispers in between bites of the rabbit, eyes following him warily. They haven’t had much time to actually talk or get to know each other in between fighting and sleeping and eating, so Minho is determined to try and bond with his lieutenant at least a little before they dive back into the heat of battle.

“Just Minho is fine, Julia” he begins, breaking the silence between them. He offers her his hand and she shakes it, her grip firm enough for a grin to sneak onto his lips. “Calling me ‘sir’ makes me feel old.”

Julia laughs for the first time since they’d step foot in the war camp. “Then you can call me Lia, only my Mama calls me Julia.”

He nods, feeling a little bit of the icy awkwardness begin to melt away. “Alright then, Lia,” he begins, leaning forwards with his elbows on his knees. He’s about to ask her what kind of training she’s received when a rustle in the bushes behind them catches his attention, the sound unlike any of the normal woodland creatures he’s come to know very well for weeks. Lia is peering over at him in confusion but he pays her no heed, his focus trained entirely on the woods. His hearing has always been sensitive, even amongst the strongest of alphas; it’s the sense he trusts most of all.

Minho turns his head slowly towards the source of the sound, sniffing at the air for any foreign scents. Roasting meat, mud, burning charcoal… His eyes widen as he catches sight of the herbal salve the physicians have bubbling near the back of the camp, the pot placed far away from the soldiers’ sleeping area after one too many complaints about the strong, intoxicating smell.

A smell that he’s catching not a single whiff of right now. 

“We’re upwind.” he hisses to Lia, getting up from the log and staring straight into the dark underbrush of the woods. A branch snaps loudly and Minho holds his breath, not even daring to blink. “On your guard.” he commands his men, heart pounding so loudly he can hear it in his ears.

He crouches slightly as he takes a few, small steps forward, latching onto the wolf inside of him in preparation. Another rustle sounds just as a hare hops out of the bush and meets his unblinking gaze, tiny nose twitching in fear before it turns and darts back where it came from. Minho sighs, all the tension in his body seeping out.

He looks back towards his men for just a moment, but that was time enough for all hell to break loose.

“MINHO LOOK OUT!” Lia screams and he turns around just in time to see the first of the cougars leaping out from between the trees, charging towards them with snarls that chill Minho’s very blood. The truce had been a lie, and now Minho will have to pay the price for being enough of a fool to believe it.

Minho draws in a breath and moves to shift but the Prytanese soldiers are faster, pouncing on his men like predators on a hunt. In the whirlwind of teeth and claws, Minho doesn’t see the cougar running straight for him until he’s falling, all of the air in his lungs knocked out in one fell swoop as the cougar rams right into his side. He lands in the dirt hard enough to draw blood where his bare skin has scraped against the rocks, but the pain barely registers as he scrambles back to his feet just as the cougar to launches itself at him once again.

This time its teeth find its mark on his thigh and Minho cries out, kicking furiously at the beast with his free leg. It sinks its claws into the muscle of his calf to hold on, ripping through his trousers and tearing into his skin. Eventually he manages to land a solid blow against its eye and it lets go, Minho moving as far away as he can manage from the beast. He spares a second to look down at his mangled leg and sucks in a horrified gasp at the exposed bone he can see peeking through the mess of blood and flesh. The cougar growls, teeth stained crimson with blood, _his_ blood.

It charges at him once more but this time Minho is ready, slashing wildly at the cougar with half-formed claws until he feels them hit flesh. He needs to shift but he can’t with the cougar so intent on killing him, he needs time, just a minute would be enough.

“Lia!” he bellows, rolling to the side to avoid yet another attempt from the beast. He doesn’t know where she is, doesn’t know if she can even hear him above the loud growls and screams that echo around the war camp. He’s losing more and more blood by the second and he can feel it weakening him, his movements growing sluggish. It won’t take long for the Prytanese cougar to realise this as well, and once it does he’s as good as dead.

But then, almost like a miracle, he spots Lia’s golden brown fur dashing between the battling soldiers towards him. She snarls loudly and distracts the cougar, biting down hard on its back leg and dodging its flailing claws. Not wasting even a breath, Minho hunches down and draws on the power inside of him, pulling it over him like a second skin.

His bones crack and bend, tearing through his clothes as they change from that of a man’s to a wolf’s. The process takes a little longer than it usually does due to blood loss and the sheer agony of his wound but eventually he stands fully shifted before the ambushing cougar, ash grey fur standing up on end as he raises his hackles. Lia receives a hard slash of the Prytanese’s claws but doesn’t release her jaws, biting down with increasing force as the cougar yowls in pain.

Minho ignores the wetness he can feel matting the fur on his left leg and leaps forwards, ripping out a chunk of the cougar’s side to weaken it. The taste of iron floods his tongue but he doesn’t hesitate before striking again, this time aiming straight for its neck. With his and Lia’s combined strength they manage to pin the larger animal down, Minho making quick work of tearing out its throat before it can overpower them.

By the time the soldier stops moving, Minho feels like he might very well pass out. He can feel the deep gashes on his leg starting to heal but it’s far too slow, he still needs to fight. Shaking off his lightheadedness, Minho makes a wild sprint directly into the heart of the battle, clawing and biting and ripping without a second thought.

If he thinks too much his body might realise that he should in fact be very much dead. But if he dies his men will no longer have a leader, and he cannot— _will_ not—let his kingdom down by losing this war. So he shoves any conscious thought to the back of his head, lets the predator inside of him take over and chase the scent of foreign blood until every surface in his war camp is stained with it.

* * *

There’s blood pooling at his feet as he stands before the Prytanese war camp, though how much of it is his own and how much of it is from the the body he has held up in his grasp by the neck he’s not sure. He tosses the corpse he’d dragged all the way from the Wistraean camp down to the earth with a humourless laugh, making sure that every single pair of Prytanese eyes are trained on him.

“What is the meaning of this?” General Jeon bites out, hands clenched tightly at his sides. “I thought we agreed on a truce—“

Minho snorts incredulously, turning to spit on the ground beside the cooling body. “You dare to speak to me of _truce_ when it is _your_ men who attacked us unarmed and unprepared, an _ambush_.”

For a moment he almost believes the shock that crosses the older man’s face but Minho is young, not a fool. He takes a step back and has to close his eyes as his head spins at the sudden movement, suddenly acutely aware of the gaping wound he has slowly festering on his left leg. Lia moves towards him to help but he shoots her a warning glare; he _will not_ look weak in front of his enemies.

“Wistraea will not forget your dishonour,” he warns, his voice low and calm. Minho stares General Jeon straight in the eye, squaring his shoulders and gritting his teeth. “Come, Lieutenant.” he beckons for Lia to follow him, turning away from the silent Prytanese and beginning their slow walk back to the camp. Though admittedly, this walk would be a lot faster if Minho would just allow for Lia to help him, but he has far too much pride for that.

Lia sneaks a peek over at him with worry plain on her soft features. “Capt- Minho, your wound…”

“I’ll get it treated once we’re back at camp,” he hisses, shifting his weight over to his good leg as a jolt of pain stabs through him at a wrong step. Lia hadn’t escaped the ambush unscathed either, with several deep scratches lining her pale arms and a shallower one across her cheek. His stomach churns in guilt at the sight of them, cursing himself for the nth time that day for being _stupid_ enough to trust in the word of an enemy.

A fool, a bloody fucking fool.

His leg feels hot in the way that only open wounds do, his trousers heavy with blood. Minho can feel sweat beading at his temples, dripping down the sides of his face and stinging his eyes. His breathing is heavy, nails scraping at his throat and his lungs with each exhale.

“Minho, you don’t look so good.” Lia grabs his arm and pulls it over her shoulder, helping him walk the last few feet back to the camp. He doesn’t even have the energy to protest, his knees threatening to buckle at any second. Another sharp stab of pain rushes through him and he has to force his eyes to stay open so he doesn’t pass out right then and there; not in front of his soldiers, not when they’ve lost so many today because of _his_ mistake.

He doesn’t go to the physician’s tent, not when there are more important injuries than his to attend to. The tent he’d slept in the previous night is blessedly empty, and Minho falls right into it the moment he gets close enough. He hits the ground hard but his mind doesn’t register the pain, not when he feels like his leg is burning hotter and hotter with every breath. His surroundings blur into a mass of brown: the sides of the tent, his brain oh-so-helpfully supplies.

“Medic! We need a medic!” he hears Lia call out but her voice sounds faint, distant, almost as if he were listening from some place deep underwater.

 _‘Oh god,’_ he realises, if a little belatedly, _‘I might die.’_

Being raised to be a knight from the time he could walk, Minho has had his fair share of cuts and bruises, and he’s never been afraid of a little pain here and there. _“You will never be a good warrior if you fear getting hurt.”_ his father had told him, time and time again. But this… This is a bad one and Minho knows it.

There are hands on him, cutting off his trousers and exposing the nasty bite wound it’s hiding underneath. He hears the gasps of horror at the sheer severity of the wound, squeezing his eyes tightly shut so he doesn’t have to see it too. “It’s fine.” he mumbles, though his mouth feels like it’s stuffed full of cotton.

“Half of your thigh is _gone_ , how did you manage to fight with this…” one of the physicians, Kangmin whispers, his voice a mixture of disbelief and awe. Minho’s heart feels like it's slamming into his ribs with each beat, the impact hard enough to rattle his skull. That’s not normal, and it’s definitely not a good sign.

He gulps, flashing as slimy of a smirk as he can manage at the young physician. “’Tis but a scratch,” he jokes, though he knows very well that’s not the case, “a mere flesh wound.”

“There’s not much left of your flesh _to_ wound.” Kangmin mutters darkly beneath his breath, rifling through the bag at his side for his tools to stitch Minho back up. He pulls out a tiny vial of purplish-blue liquid, uncorking it and holding it in front of Minho’s nose. “Sniff this.”

“What is it?” he asks, taking a tentative sniff at the sweet, flowery liquid. His vision immediately starts to go fuzzy around the edges, the glint of something sharp and metallic in the younger boy’s hand barely visible.

“Moonblossom essence from the best apothecary in the kingdom, it’ll knock you out for a few hours.” Minho closes his eyes and lets the darkness take him, not even fighting it as he’s pulled into the blissful embrace of unconsciousness. “You do _not_ want to be awake for this next part.”

Somehow, Minho thinks he’s very much right about that.

* * *

“Captain, you should be resting right now.” one of his soldiers, Youngmin, says as he clears away the remnants of Minho’s dinner. There’s still one day left of the supposed truce, and while Prytaneion has already broken the agreement Minho refuses to do the same. And his men need to rest, to recover; he can’t throw them into battle so quickly after the attack.

Minho shakes his head, brushing his fringe off of his forehead. His hair’s gotten pretty long since he’d last had it trimmed in the capitol, he’s going to need a haircut soon. He holds up the stack of letters and documents that had been sent to him over the past few weeks while he’d been shifted, waving it listlessly at the boy with a wry grin. “Ah but can’t you see I’m _terribly_ busy?”

“Lieutenant Choi said you shouldn’t strain yourself—“

“Indeed, replying to letters, the most strenuous of tasks.” Minho deadpans, dipping his fountain pen in the little pot of ink he has balanced precariously atop a lamp beside his cot. He scrawls out a message requesting for more food to be sent down to the camp, addressing the envelope to marquess of Villefort. “Be a dear and bring this down to the hawks for me.”

One of the envelopes near the top of his stack feels a little heavier than all of the rest so Minho sets it aside for now; it’s probably some lengthy lecture from his father about how terrible of a job he’s doing down here. He uses the sleeve of his shirt to dab off some of the sweat forming around his hairline; when had it gotten so warm in here?

Youngmin takes the letter from him with pursed lips, limping slightly himself as he moves to exit the tent to send it off. He’d managed to avoid the Prytanese’s terribly sharp teeth but hadn’t been quite so lucky with their claws, sporting several already scabbing lines up the entirety of his legs where one of the cougars had tried to grab at him. Minho shifts a little once his back starts to ache and winces, feeling the slowly healing skin on his left thigh pulling on the stitches the physician had done up just the night before.

He’s never been the fastest healer amongst the other soldiers in the capitol, no, that position is undeniably Hyunjin’s. One day back when Minho was seven, he, Hyunjin, and Changbin had fallen out of a tree and right into a thorn bush. All of Hyunjin’s cuts and bruises had closed up and healed by the time they crossed the palace grounds, so he’d gotten off scot-free while Minho and Changbin had to suffer through an hour long scolding on not messing around on palace grounds. Minho smiles fondly at the memory, wondering just what his two best friends were doing right now back in the palace.

Hyunjin is probably off stirring up chaos in the castle, and Changbin is undoubtedly watching over the young crown prince from somewhere in the wings, just as he always is. The two of them have always known exactly who they are, what they should do, how they should act. Minho? He’s just been fumbling.

The son of a general. The best friend of the crown prince. The captain of a battalion of ragtag youngsters.

Minho is a lot of things, so why does he still feel like he’s drifting aimlessly through life, still searching for a purpose? He had _thought_ that if he managed to win this war against Prytaneion and reclaim Belris then maybe, just maybe, he’d finally achieve something, finally take a step down the path he’s supposed to be walking on.

But all he’d done was mess up.

So many of his men: dead, injured. And for what?

He sets down the letter he’d been working on and leans his head back against the pillows, sighing deeply. Hyunjin would be a far better captain than Minho is, would never have made that _stupid_ truce just for two days of peace. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_.

The crown prince has always been five, no, ten steps ahead of everyone else: the smartest person in the room, the bravest, the strongest, even when he were just barely a teenager amongst all of the grown ups. Minho remembers being just a little bit in love with the raven-haired prince back then, remembers the butterflies that used to flutter around in his belly whenever they were together.

Though he’s long since come to terms with those feelings and let them go, he misses just how much simpler everything had been when they were just children.

The blankets he has thrown over his legs suddenly feel far too warm so he tosses them off, relishing in the caress of fresh, cool air on his heated skin. Minho spares a quick glance down at his leg before he freezes, breath catching in his throat.

“Oh shit.” he whispers to himself, reaching down to run a finger along the dark, creeping veins extending from his bandaged wound. “That’s not good.”

He should get up, call somebody for help, but Minho can’t move. His limbs are paralysed, his breathing shallow. He can feel his temperature beginning to rise, his skin going clammy with sweat. Something is wrong, something is wrong wrong wrong—

“Minho I- What the fuck?” Lia drops whatever it was she’d been bringing in for him and rushes to his bedside, staring down at the horrifying black veins spreading out from the bite wound. “Medic!” she screams for the second time in less than twelve hours, clearing his pen and papers away to make room for the physician.

His hands are shaking as Kangmin manhandles him onto his back, his sheets growing damp from the sheer amount of sweat leaking from his pores. “He’s been poisoned.” Kangmin says, pulling a tiny pair of scissors out of his bag and starting to cut up the stitches he’d so carefully put on him just hours ago. “Bring me water, lots of it!”

Minho feels a wave of nausea rise up from his belly, and he turns his head to the side just in time to vomit up every single grain of rice he’d eaten for his dinner straight onto the floor of his tent. He hears Kangmin curse, barking at someone outside to come and clean the mess up. An apology is sitting at the tip of his tongue but he can’t seem to force the words out of his mouth, not when his throat is swelling up more and more as the minutes tick by.

Something sharp stabs straight into his wound and Minho screams, throwing his arms out to try and push whatever it was that was reopening the laceration away. In his wild thrashing he knocks over the stack of letters Lia had moved away, the papers flying out across the tent. No one pays any particular attention to it, not when Minho is inching ever closer to his grave.

Kangmin rubs a salve into his bloody, reopened wound and all of a sudden the pain is gone, the scorching heat in his veins cooling down to a normal temperature. The swelling in his throat starts to go down and Minho sucks in a deep, staggering breath. “That should keep the effects of the poison at bay for now, but we need to find an antidote or Captain Lee is going to _die_.”

“Then find it!” Lia growls, teeth bared in a rare display of anger. “You’re the physician here, do something!”

“I’m a physician not a fucking _apothecary_! I just clean wounds and stitch people up, I don’t know jack shit about herbs and antidotes!” the boy is panicking, Minho can tell. He wants to throw out a joke, lighten the mood, tell them that everything is going to be okay. But frankly, he doesn’t know if it is.

Youngmin comes charging into the tent, chest rising and falling heavily with the force of his panting. His eyes are wide, his face white as a sheet. “C-Captain! Prytaneion’s general is kneeling at the edge of the camp! He’s sayin’ he has an antidote for you!”

He contemplates telling Youngmin to turn General Jeon away, but Lia is barking out an order before he can even open his mouth. “Search him for weapons and tie him up, tight enough to bleed!”

“Lia…” he starts, grimacing at the soreness in his throat.

She clenches her jaw. “It’s _his_ men that did this to you, it’s only right if he’s the one to fix it.”

Minho knows she won’t accept any further argument so he keeps his mouth shut, talking just makes his throat hurt anyways. He’s no expert on poisons in any sense of the word but he’s never seen one that acts quite like this, so sudden, so deadly. Another wave of nausea rushes up from his stomach but he holds it back, clenching his fists hard enough to break the skin of his palms.

It doesn’t take long for the enemy general to be delivered to his doorstep, hands bound so tightly behind his back there’s not a chance in hell for him to get out of it. His round, almost childlike eyes are filled with guilt as he spots Minho on his cot, a mere shadow of the man that had stood before him just a day before and threatened the wrath of Wistraea on him. Minho would find it almost funny if he didn’t currently have one foot planted firmly in the grave.

Lia pulls out a sword and holds the point under General Jeon’s chin. “ _Talk_ , what have your men done to him?”

“I sent an envelope with the herbs you’d need to make an antidote last night, I presume no one has bothered to open it?” the general says, wary of the sharp metal pressed against his neck. “I brought one with me just in case, it’s in my pocket.”

“Why should I trust a single word you say, General?” Minho rasps out, pushing himself up onto his elbows to stare the older man down. “You broke the truce—“

“That was not my command, I _swear_.” the blatant honesty on General Jeon’s face makes Minho even angrier somehow. “A group of my men acted on their own accord, Prytaneion had nothing to do with it.”

Minho coughs hard enough to rattle his bones, the palm he clasps over his mouth to muffle the sound coming away red. Kangmin gasps at the sight, his heart hammering in his chest loud enough for Minho to hear. “Why do you have an antidote to the poison they used, then?”

“Night’s Hood, it’s famous back in Prytaneion for torture, we were given a box of it to use as a last resort if everything were to go south.” Minho sees red at this, and he feels his canines start to elongate in his mouth in his fury. Sensing Minho’s anger the general adds quickly: “But I never, _never_ planned on using it. It’s dishonourable, just like you said yesterday.”

The general draws in a deep breath, and Minho realises with a strange feeling of disconnection that the man isn’t that much older than himself. “Captain Lee, I give you my _word_ that this antidote will cure you, _please_ , take it.”

His lieutenant awaits his signal, sticking her hands into the general’s pockets the moment he gives his nod of approval. In her hands is a vial of clear liquid, the top stoppered and sealed with wax around the edges. She uses the small knife Kangmin hands her to remove the wax and uncork the bottle, holding it out to Minho with a conflicted expression on her delicate features.

For all they know, the contents of the bottle might very well be his end, all they have to go on is the word of an enemy general. “If this kills me, you mark my words, General, I will haunt you for the rest of your days.”

Then he downs the bottle in one gulp, the antidote inside almost cloyingly sweet against the back of his throat. He hears a sharp intake of breath and looks down at his leg, watching as the jet black veins seem to retreat back towards the wound before disappearing completely. Minho no longer feels like he’s being burned alive from the inside, which is always a good sign, he supposes.

“The man that bit you, he was one of my captains.” General Jeon explains softly, gaze downcast. “He coated his teeth with the poison and led an ambush on your camp, we noticed the effects of it on his body that you brought back to us.”

Minho flexes his leg, the fresh wound healing a lot faster than the original had. “Lia, Kangmin, Youngmin, all of you step outside, I want a word alone with General Jeon.”

“But sir-“ Lia protests but he shoots her a warning glare; he will not accept any insubordination in front of an enemy leader. She grits her teeth, straightening her back and raising her right hand in a sharp salute. “Yes sir.”

Kangmin and Youngmin follow her lead and salute as well before ducking out of the tent, leaving Minho alone with the most dangerous man in the Prytanese army. He gets out of his cot with a wince, keeping most of his weight off of his left leg. With nimble fingers he picks up the heavy letter that had fallen to the floor in the midst of all the chaos, breaking open the wax seal on the envelope and exposing the contents inside.

True to the general’s word, inside the envelope are a bundle of herbs tied neatly together with a thin red string, a small note attached with instructions on how to brew the antidote. Minho peers down at the name signed at the bottom of the note.

“Jeon Jungkook?” he whispers experimentally, turning to the bound general with a raised brow. “That’s you, I presume.”

The general nods, unsure where Minho is trying to go with this. For a moment Minho contemplates what would happen if he were to behead the general right then and there, he might end the war and be able to go home, _or_ the Prytaneion king might send a new general not nearly as honourable of a man as the one before him and drag out this pointless fighting even longer.

“Did you come here with anyone else?” he asks, setting the letter down amongst his blankets and sitting back down. The general has been kneeling for almost half an hour now, but Minho doesn’t care enough to worry about the state of his kneecaps.

“No, I came alone, I figured your men wouldn’t appreciate if I brought along a friend.”

Minho hums contemplatively. “A wise choice.”

“Are you going to let me go, or are you going to kill me?” there’s no fear in the older man’s eyes, not a single shred of it. “I’m at your mercy, Captain Lee-“

“Minho. My name is Minho.” he interjects, after all, it’s not very fair that he learns the other man’s name and doesn’t return the sentiment. He reaches for the knife Kangmin had left behind, cutting through the ropes binding Jungkook’s hands behind his back and setting him free. The general looks up at him with wide-eyed astonishment, rubbing at his sore wrists.

“Why?”

“Because I owe you a life debt, General Jeon Jungkook. You didn’t have to come here and risk your life to save mine, but you did, and I will not forget that.” Minho says simply, extending a hand out to the man to shake. Jungkook takes it firmly, the tiniest of smiles creeping up the corner of his thin lips. “Tomorrow we return to the battlefield as enemies. But if there ever comes a day when we find ourselves on the same side, I hope to meet you again as a friend.”

The general laughs then, pearly white teeth on full display as he grins. “I’ll look forward to it, Captain Lee Minho.”

* * *

Minho’s heart sinks to his stomach as he scans over the letters carefully penned along the parchment, a hard lump forming in his throat. He checks the date written at the bottom of the page, fingers trembling. He’s crumpling the letter with how hard he’s gripping onto it but Minho doesn’t care.

The letter had been at the very bottom of his pile, sent to him more than a fortnight ago according to the date. Three weeks. Three weeks.

King Daniel has been dead for _three_ _weeks_.

His head is spinning, memories of the kind eyed, smiling king playing in the forefront of his mind. With Wistraea and Daeracha being such close allies, Minho has spent many a day with his father over in the Daerachan castle. It was part and parcel of maintaining friendships, his father had told him, and Minho knows that he had treasured the king as a dear friend during his lifetime. They have to pay their respects, his father writes, have to offer their condolences to the grieving royals.

The Daerachan king was wise and kind, which was probably the reason why relations between Wistraea and Daeracha have been so smooth for the past thirty or so years. But now he’s dead, and his bastard of a son is going to take the throne. Crown Prince Jihwan has never been Minho’s favourite out of all the Daerachan royalty, far from it in fact. As far as Minho is concerned, there isn’t a single good bone in that prince’s body.

From what he remembers of his last trip to Daeracha a year ago, Prince Jisung would be a much more suitable candidate for King, if only he weren’t an omega, that is.

The soft chirping of the birds outside tell him that the sun will be rising soon, that a new day of battle is about to begin. Minho lifts up his blankets to check on his leg, smiling to himself at the fresh, pink skin he sees. His wound isn’t fully recovered, not yet, but it’s enough for him to be able to return to the battlefield.

He looks back at the last line of the letter, determination filling him.

_Return home quickly, my son, I believe in you._

Minho throws open the flaps of his tent, holding his head up high as his battalion stands at attention before him. “Today we’re splitting into two groups to surround them, once we cut off their supply line they’ll have no choice but to order a retreat.” he instructs, reminding them of the detailed plan they’d gone over the night before. “They’ll have had a longer time to rest than us but that doesn’t matter, we just have to outsmart them.”

“Yes sir!” the cacophony of voices echoes loudly in the clearing they’ve set up camp in. Lia stands at the front of the lines, eyes hard with resolve.

“Today we _finish_ this! Today we retake Belris and bring victory to Wistraea!” he shouts, holding his fist up high above his head. The cheers that erupt around him are almost deafening and Minho relishes in it, breathing it in deep and letting it fuel the fire blazing within his veins.

The shift this time is quick, painless; not a single trace of the almost fatal wound on his leg to be seen. He digs his nails deep into the earth, waiting for the last of his wolves to pass him before he runs after them, straight into the heart of the rising sun.


	5. Hyunjin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap this took actually ten million years what why how??? I actually had this chapter planned really long ago but then Yanxi Palace took over my life so here we are :') It's the meeting we've all been waiting for! I hope you all enjoy this chapter, I did work really hard on it T_T 
> 
> Is everyone ready for Golive cos I'm not, Hyunjin is ready to end my life and I'm grateful.

Hyunjin turns in his seat to stare out of the large arched windows beside his desk, squinting slightly at the harsh glare of the sunlight flooding in through the glass. He breathes in deeply, relishing in the last traces of warmth before the cold of winter encompasses them completely. He’d kill to be out on the grounds right now, feeling the sun’s searing kisses along the crests of his cheekbones and the grass between his toes.

He glances back at the mountain of documents and letters sitting on his desk and lets out a long sigh; there’ll be no frolicking outside for him today. Wiggling his toes, Hyunjin gets up from his chair; a quick round of the corridors to stretch his legs _should_ be fine. His stomach churns at the first steps he takes, a sharp ringing in his ears making his temples throb.

“Shit.” he curses beneath his breath, shaking his head to try and dispel the building headache. Hyunjin clenches his jaw in determination: he will _not_ let these stupid hormones dictate his life. So he ignores the pounding in his head, the queasiness settling in the pit of his belly, stumbling out into the hallway through sheer force of will.

In fact, he’s so focused on storming down the corridor that he doesn’t even notice the familiar scent of spearmint right behind him until the older boy has a hand clenched around the collar of his shirt. He yelps and stumbles backwards, arms flailing wildly as he tries to regain his balance.

Once he’s been dragged back into his room he whips around to glare at his friend, tugging mournfully on his stretched out collar. “What the hell are you doing?” he snaps, temper rising rapidly to the surface. Hyunjin has always been quicker to anger on the days leading up to his heat, his moods changing as quickly as the autumn winds blow.

Changbin isn’t offended, not when he’s almost as in tune with Hyunjin’s cycle as Hyunjin is himself. Instead he merely grins, slapping Hyunjin hard on the shoulder in a way only he could even think of getting away with. “So snappy, Hyunjin, should be about a few days away, huh?”

It is, but Hyunjin isn’t going to admit that with that smug expression on Changbin’s face. He sniffs haughtily, turning away from his friend and falling back into his cushioned chair. Changbin chuckles and follows after him, setting a mug of some suspiciously dark liquid down on his desk in front of him. Hyunjin can tell what it is from a single whiff, resisting the urge to gag at the sickeningly bitter herbal drink.

He shakes his head, pushing the mug back towards Changbin with a scowl. “No thanks.”

Changbin pushes it back with equal fervour. “ _Drink_.”

Hyunjin groans, faltering beneath Changbin’s unwavering stare. He’s been getting the awful tasting tonic since he’d presented, and while it isn’t quite the heat suppressant he’d wanted it does make his heats a little more manageable. A gust of wind swoops into the room through the open door and blows the smell of the tonic straight into his face, the bitter quality of it enough to make his stomach churn even more.

“You know it tastes like crap, Binnie, I’ll take a shitty heat over this any day.” he pouts, cradling the steaming cup mournfully between his hands. “Please Binnie? Father won’t know if we just dump it out the window, promise!”

“You’ve been trying to get out of drinking it for years now, what makes you think you’re gonna succeed this time?” Changbin snorts, pushing the door closed with a soft click and pulling up a chair on the opposite side of Hyunjin’s desk. “It’s just three times a year, not three times a day, don’t be a drama queen.”

“Says you,” Hyunjin grumbles, leaning back in his chair with a soft groan, “ _you’ve_ never had to drink that disgusting thing before.”

Almost defiantly, Changbin picks up the mug and takes a small sip. He sets the cup back down with a shrug. “Tastes fine to me, the new apothecary said he added some stuff to make it taste a little better so it must have worked.”

Hyunjin perks up at this. “There’s a new apothecary? What happened to the old one?”

“Heard from the servants that he passed away around two, three weeks ago? Some disease I think, can’t remember the specifics.” Changbin replies with a shrug. “The new guy’s his apprentice, I think I met him the other day when I went into Alensir for your new ball clothes.”

His friend’s scent grows suspiciously more poignant at his last few words, and Hyunjin finds himself staring at the steadily rising flush on Changbin’s neck with narrowed, suspicious eyes. “Why are you blushing, oh friend of mine?” he hums, resting his chin on his knuckles. “Do you think the new apothecary is cute, Binnie Binnie?”

The bright red on Changbin’s cheeks is enough of an answer for him. He gasps theatrically. “You _do_.”

“No I don’t! It’s his friend, the jewelsmith—“ Changbin cuts himself off, pursing his lips tightly together to shut himself up. It’s too late for that, though, Hyunjin has heard enough.

He furrows his brows. “The jewelsmith? _Really_? Isn’t he a bit old for you, Binnie?”

Hyunjin almost chokes as the older boy shoves the lip of the mug against his mouth, coughing as an unfamiliar tasting liquid coats his tongue. _‘Hmm, it does taste different._ ’ he thinks to himself, taking the cup from Changbin’s insistent hands and sipping gingerly. The tonic is a little sweeter, with less of that herbal flavour that he detests with all of his being—Hyunjin would even dare say it’s _almost_ pleasant.

The tonic slides down his throat easily, soothing the pulsing ache within him as it settles in his lower belly. “You didn’t answer me, Bin.” he reminds, taking another long gulp. Hyunjin stares Changbin head on until he can literally feel the older boy’s defences crack, his tensed shoulders slumping as he gives up on trying to hide his new secret crush.

“It’s not the jewelsmith, he’s like _fifty_ , come on.” Changbin mumbles, not a trace of heat behind the glare he shoots Hyunjin. “It’s his apprentice, I don’t know his name though.”

This tickles Hyunjin greatly.

He lurches over the desk to grab at Changbin’s arms, eyes bright with excitement. “Is _that_ why you bought me those new earrings last week?” he gasps in sudden realisation. “Did _he_ make them?”

“I just thought they’d look good with your suit!” Changbin argues, and Hyunjin has to admit he agrees based on the sketches his attendant had shown him.

Though somehow he can’t quite bring himself to believe him. “Are you _sure_ that’s all?”

“ _Maybe_ I wanted to talk to him a little longer, but his friend was watching us like a hawk the entire time…” Changbin groans loudly and sinks back into his chair, rubbing at his eyes with his knuckles. “And I bet you my left buttcheek that he’s the new apothecary, I could smell the herbs on him a mile away.”

“Are they mated?” Hyunjin asks, far more interested in this than he should have any right to be. Changbin has never interest in anyone before, so Hyunjin thinks he’s allowed to be a little excited for his dearest friend.

Changbin shakes his head, the short black strands brushing softly against his brows. “Didn’t see a mark, but their scents were all over each other so perhaps they’re courting?”

Hyunjin leans forward to pat Changbin’s head. “There there, no mark no problem is what I say—”

“When have you ever said that?”

“—and besides, I doubt anyone could resist the charms of the one and only Seo Changbin!”

“Now you’re just being sarcastic.” Changbin chastises, though the smile on his face lends no aid to the mock seriousness of his words. “Finish your tonic and get some rest, you have a rough few days ahead of you, I don’t know why you’re even still trying to work, you won’t get anywhere..”

Somehow this touches a raw nerve in Hyunjin, his mood immediately souring and his grin warping into a scowl. He simply cannot grasp why his friend doesn’t seem to understand that he needs to keep working, to prove to everyone at court that he isn’t weak and that he’s perfectly suitable to be the next king. “I need to work.” is all he bites out, tamping down the burgeoning flares of his temper before he says something he regrets.

“Hyunjin…“ the sliver of pity in Changbin’s voice is enough to get Hyunjin out of his chair, finishing off the last few mouthfuls of tonic before storming out of the room. “Where are you going?” he hears Changbin call out but he doesn’t respond, allowing the irrational irritation in him to carry him down the hallway, as far away from his friend as possible.

He doesn’t want to hear about how his fatigue is normal for an omega, how he’s allowed to take a few days off for his heat. Those words do nothing but remind him that he is somehow less than the crown prince he should be, how his ineligibility to be a true, respected king is not due to his lack of ability but simply because he presented differently than everyone had thought.

He hates it, _he hates it_.

Before he even knows it, his feet have carried him straight to his father’s study, his knuckles poised hesitantly above the heavy wooden door. He’s about to knock when the sound of footsteps within has him freezing in place, not even daring to breathe in fear that his presence might be noticed.

His father is not alone in his study.

“Your majesty, you need to make your decision quickly.” a low, gruff voice sounds—Lord Yoon, Hyunjin notes. He gets a strange, sinking feeling in his gut at the words, and though he shouldn’t be eavesdropping he can’t help but listen closer for the words that come next.

“The people grow restless, your majesty.” another voice—Lord Min—chimes in. “Without a proper heir to the throne, the other kingdoms might see it as an opportunity.”

Hyunjin wants to throw open the door, to shout at them that _he’s_ a proper heir, the _true_ heir. But he doesn’t, clenching his fists hard at his sides to keep from doing anything rash.

“Crown Prince Hyunjin has done a fine job thus far,” Lady Im interjects, “he’s been raised to be the next ruler, there’s no one more suited than him.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that he’s an omega, Lady Im!”

“And his heats! Do you really wish to have the entire kingdom put on hold three times a year while the king has his heat _fucked_ away?”

Hyunjin’s cheeks flush red, a mixture of shame and embarrassment swirling within him. Not for the first time since he’d presented, Hyunjin wishes he weren’t an omega. He turns on his heels, not wanting to hear more reasons why he’s unfit to be king. He’s about to walk away when something else catches his attention, rooting him down on the spot.

“Prince Jeongin will be a strong alpha king, your majesty, instating him as Crown Prince would be in the kingdom’s best interests.”

The weights holding him in place disappear and Hyunjin is running, blood trickling down his fingers from where his nails have dug into his palms and leaving a crimson trail on the cold, marble floors behind him. There’s a burning heat in his chest that pulses with every step, slicing into his lungs with every breath.

His nose catches Jeongin’s presence before his eyes do: sweet vanilla and bergamot filling the corridor. “Ah! Hyung!” his brother calls out, waving to him with a cheeky grin. He has a plate of apple tarts in his other hand, cradling it close to his chest. The smell of sweet, cinnamon coated apples is enough to whet his appetite, his stomach growling traitorously despite his foul mood. “Do you want a tart? They’re fresh from the oven.”

Hyunjin does in fact want a tart but the memory of his father’s advisors telling him to replace him with Jeongin is far too fresh, the wide, innocent eyes he sees before him doing nothing but remind he’s disposable, that he’s considered _less_ _than_ even his unpresented little brother. Jeongin holds out the plate of tarts to him and he shoves his hand away, sending the delicious, golden tarts flying out across the hallway.

Jeongin’s expression is shocked as he stares at the smushed tarts on the floor, an obvious hurt in the downturn of his lips. Hyunjin wants to apologise, to take his baby brother in his arms and beg for forgiveness. Though it is his wounded pride that carries him off, walking away from the apple tart graveyard and up a familiar set of stairs towards his bed chamber without a whisper of an _‘I’m sorry’_ on his tongue. 

He just needs a bath, Hyunjin decides, a nice, cool bath will help clear his head for sure. He doesn’t bother calling for his servants to draw the bath for him, doesn’t want them to see him in the current state he’s in and add fuel to the palace gossip. He’s nineteen years old, almost twenty, he can fill his own bath.

The bath is a little on the colder side by the time Hyunjin sinks into the tub, but the cool, orange blossom scented water feels just heavenly against his skin so he has no complaints. Hyunjin sighs, leaning back against the ceramic sides of the sunken bathtub and letting his eyelids droop shut. It takes another ten minutes for the regret and the guilt to set in, embarrassment filling him at the memory of his own immature behaviour towards his friend and his own brother. He should know better than to let his heat take him over, to muddle his judgement to that extent.

“Hyunjin, you’re an idiot.” he whispers to himself, moving his fingers slowly through the soapy bath water. Holding his breath, Hyunjin slips deeper into the water up to his nose. His head is full of noise and thoughts, the echoes of venomous words drumming against his temples.

_“Without a proper heir…”_

_“Put the kingdom on hold…”_

Hyunjin screams in frustration, whipping his arm out wildly to the side and splattering water across the floor. His heart is racing as anger and helplessness form a malignant tumour within him, eating away at his insides and every shred of sanity he possesses.

 _‘I’m going to be replaced, I’m going to be thrown away.’_ repeats over and over again in his head like a mantra, dread filling him so startlingly he feels he might throw up right then and there. Unfair, it’s so unfair. All that training, all those days spent locked away in the library studying while the other children were playing out in the sun, in the town: all for naught. Wasted years, wasted youth, wasted life.

He scoffs: just like that, everything he’s ever worked for is going to be handed to Jeongin on a silver platter. Jeongin, who’s never sat through an entire lesson without causing mayhem, who’s never won a sparring match, who’s been babied by everyone in the castle from the day he was born and just gets away with _everything_.

The towel he has hanging on a hook on the wall is soft and fluffy against his skin, and Hyunjin quickly runs it over his hair to dry it before wrapping it around his waist. He doesn’t bother draining the water out of the tub, his servants will have it cleared away later anyways. Droplets of water form on the tips of his long, black hair, falling over his cheeks and forehead much like orange scented tears.

Hyunjin runs a hand through his hair, wincing as his fingers catch on tangles amongst the strands. He’s been putting off getting a haircut for a while now, but he thinks he should probably get on with it before the ball next week comes around. The floor of his bedroom feels icy cold beneath his bare feet: yet another sign of the freezing winter to come. A gust of wind brushes against his damp skin, a shudder running down his spine as goosebumps raise all along his arms.

The large bay window by his bookshelves is slightly ajar, which explains the chilly breeze threatening to freeze his fingers off. He hurries over to go and close it, though he doesn’t quite make it there in the end as his feet slide out from right under him and he crashes to the ground.

“Oh fuck.” he groans, rubbing mournfully at his now bruised tailbone. He’d slipped on something on the ground, not water, but something more like a sheet of paper or a small cloth. Peering around him, Hyunjin searches for the culprit with narrowed eyes. The pale yellowish edge of a letter peeks out at him from under his dresser and he huffs, shuffling over to it as gracefully as one who is currently naked and vaguely bruised can.

The letter is further beneath the dresser than he’d thought, and he finds himself with his cheek pressed to the floor as he fumbles in the dust for the troublesome letter. “Come on, come on…” his finger catches on something cool and metallic, definitely not the parchment he’d been expecting. Patting around a little more, he identifies a small metal ring half embedded in the smooth tile of his floor. Hyunjin frowns: he’s never noticed this before in his nineteen years of life, something about its presence sending an ominous feeling through his veins.

He contemplates just grabbing his letter and forgetting the ring had ever even existed, though it’s his curiosity that wins out in the end. Hyunjin stands up, eyeing the heavy wooden structure pensively. He’ll have to push it out of the way to see what’s underneath properly, and no properly raised prince should be doing any sort of heavy lifting while butt naked.

Getting dressed is a quick affair, the loose fitting white shirt and fitted dark brown trousers smooth and comfortable as all of his clothing is. He even takes the time to slip on his favourite pair of leather boots, well broken in and pillowy soft against his feet. Eventually he decides that the best course of action will be to simply push the dresser to the side, though that task quickly becomes a lot more difficult that it initially appeared when it refuses to budge even an inch.

Hyunjin sighs, wondering if it’s him that’s lacking strength or it’s the dresser is simply too powerful. He can’t give up now, though. Bracing his feet and gripping tightly onto the sides of the wood, Hyunjin draws on the strength of the beast within, letting its power pulse through his veins, his muscles. With a final grunt of exertion, Hyunjin shoves the dresser out of the way, the sound of the wooden feet scraping against the tile making him wince.

He looks back down at the ground and his eyes widen; where the dresser had once sat is a small, adult-sized trap door, blended seamlessly in with the rest of the tile. The only indication of its presence is the small metal ring embedded closer to the front of where the dresser had been, it’s no wonder that Hyunjin had never discovered it before in his life. The elegant script atop the letter half buried in the dust catches his attention and he picks it up immediately, tracing his finger over Minho’s familiar handwriting with a fond smile.

His friend has been gone for more than a month now, Hyunjin misses him dearly. It’s always been the three of them together here in the castle, the walking hurricane of mischief and mayhem in their youth and the envy of all in court in their adulthood. Well, except for Hyunjin, that is. Minho likes to delude himself that Hyunjin’s position in the line of succession is as secure as it was before he’d presented, but the whispers of the servants and the nobles aren’t as hushed as they believe them to be, so Hyunjin knows of his own rocky spot at the top of the pyramid very well.

Those days were simpler, happier, with no worries more serious than what dessert would be served with dinner that night. But they had to grow up eventually, even if Hyunjin wishes they hadn’t.

Minho’s letter is tucked safely away beneath his pillow, to be read later that night in the comfort of his bed. For now he has more pressing matters at hand, such as finding out exactly what lies beneath the hidden trap door in his very own bedroom. At first it refuses to give no matter how hard Hyunjin yanks at the ring, his fingers aching from the strain of it.

There has to be a way to lift it up, it wouldn’t be there unless there is. Maybe if he were to twist it?

He turns the ring clockwise as hard as he can, grinning in triumph as the trapdoor pops open with a soft _click_. Pushing it the rest of the way up reveals a deep, damp smelling pit leading about maybe ten feet down, the bottom of it too dark for even Hyunjin’s sharp eyes to see. Sniffing tentatively at the air near the opening, Hyunjin pulls a face at the smell of mould and stagnant water.

Every sensible bone in his body is telling him not to jump into the dirty pit but he ignores it, grabbing a lamp off the wall and lighting it quickly with a match. He’s about to hop right on in when he pauses, peering down at the pristine white of his shirt with a gulp. Perhaps he should put on a coat, he may be a prince but that doesn’t mean he should go around ruining perfectly good clothing for no reason.

The coat he pulls on is thin but enough to serve its purpose, wrapping warmly around his torso as he jumps straight into the pit. He lands on hard, smooth stone floors, well built enough for Hyunjin to know that this pit—this _tunnel_ —had once served a greater purpose than being tucked away beneath a prince’s bedchambers. The tunnel extends on both ahead and behind him, long and seemingly never-ending in the darkness.

He holds up his lamp and peers head on into the diaphanous black of the tunnel, wrinkling his nose at the heavy odour of mould that hangs in the still air. Watching his step for any stray vermin or insects that could be scuttering about, Hyunjin follows the tunnel’s path without further hesitation, suddenly wishing he’d brought a dagger or something to protect himself with against whatever he might find in these hidden passageways.

The sound of his footsteps echo as loudly as thunder in the overwhelming silence, his heart pounding like the beat of ceremonial drums. There’s a very likely chance that he might up at a dead end, with this tunnel being some long forgotten hallway in a version of the castle from a different time. This could all be just a complete waste of time, yet there’s something within him that continues to tug him forwards, step by step, inch by inch; a silent voice crooning from beyond the veil of a different plane.

 _“Choose, Hyunjin.”_ his heart skips a beat, breath catching in his throat at the sound of the familiar voice. Dulcet tones, memories of whispered lullabies on stormy nights. A forked path stands before him, a choice he has to make. His gaze darts wildly around the pitch black tunnel, searching for the source of the lulling words he’d heard though he knows he’ll find nothing.

After all, King Consort Hyunwoo has been dead for fifteen years.

 _“Choose, my baby.”_ he thinks he hears again, his eyes stinging despite knowing it couldn’t possibly be real. It’s been so long that he’d thought he’d forgotten what his papa’s voice sounded like, but hearing it now even in a hallucination calls forth a yearning for the papa he’d lost so early into his life that he hadn’t even realised before now.

Left? Or right?

Hyunjin takes a step towards the path on the right but jerks back immediately, the piercing chill that envelopes him enough to make him gasp. It appears his choice has been made for him, whether he likes it or not. He continues on forwards down the tunnel on the left, though he can’t help but wonder if he’d made the choice his papa had wanted him to in the end.

A dead end; Hyunjin can’t help the incredulous laugh that bubbles its way out of his throat. He’s no expert on distance like Minho is but he knows for certain that he’s walked at least half the length of the castle by then, though it hadn’t been a straight shot nor level all the way so he really could be anywhere at this point.

He groans loudly, lashing out at the wall in frustration. All that effort wasted, nothing but a waste of time. The soft creak of shifting stone makes him freeze on the spot, fingers clenching hard around the wooden grip of his lamp. Fresh, new air begins to flood into the tunnel, the fragrance of flowers dancing in the rush of the autumn breeze.

 _‘The outside.’_ Hyunjin realises, keen eyes catching the barely-there sliver of light that cuts into the pitch black darkness of the tunnel from. So it wasn’t a dead end after all, rather yet another sealed trapdoor leading straight out of the castle. In all of his years wandering the grounds, discovering every hidden nook and cranny this old fortress has to offer, Hyunjin has never once seen any sort of door or opening like this. He has no idea where exactly this door will deposit him, for all he knows he could end up popping right in the middle into a guard’s watch and just how would he explain himself then.

Well, there’s only one way to find out.

The stone feels smooth beneath his palm despite its age, and to his surprise, it only takes a little of Hyunjin’s strength to push it open. Sunlight floods into the tunnel, blinding his darkness adjusted eyes momentarily. He squints out through the hole in the roof of the tunnel and smiles, the blue sky above warm and welcoming.

He’d thought the trapdoor would lead out onto a spot somewhere on the castle grounds, perhaps by the lake or down by the stables. What he hadn’t expected in the slightest was the tunnel to spit him out beyond the castle walls, straight into a meadow of flowers so brilliant in their bloom he finds himself questioning the very seasons themselves.

A breath of chilly autumn wind caresses his cheekbones as he climbs out of the tunnel into the clearing, making him suddenly thankful he’d had the foresight to put a coat on. The other side of the trapdoor is covered with moss and grass and earth, with not a single hint that it might be something more than a patch of grass to any unwary eyes.

 _‘Clever, very clever.’_ he thinks to himself, closing the trapdoor behind him and marking the centre with a large stone so he may find it again later. After all, it’s not often (read: never at all) that Hyunjin is given the opportunity to explore the land beyond the castle walls without an entourage of at _least_ ten soldiers accompanying him.

In his younger days, he’d tried to go out into the town at least once every fortnight, whether just for a ride through the forest or for a gander down in the markets. Though as the years went by, and the number of guards surrounding him grew larger and larger, going out felt more suffocating than staying hidden away in the castle so his trips became more and more infrequent until he barely left the grounds at all.

Unlike his brother, of course, who spends the majority of his days enjoying his freedom outside the castle, going wherever he wants and doing whatever he pleases.

Hyunjin scowls, bitterness creeping up on his heart; Jeongin will have to get used to being locked away when they instate him as Crown Prince.

He picks a flower from the ground and twirls the stem between his fingers; baby’s breath, his papa’s favourite flower. He tucks the bloom behind his ear and strides through the meadow, petals and leaves brushing delicately at the exposed skin of his calves. It’s a beautiful day, beautiful enough to ignore the guilt simmering in his chest over leaving his work unfinished.

The wind acts as his guide through the forest and onto the main road to Alensir, the castle town. He ducks his head and avoids the eye of any passersby, shuffling into the shadows at the first sight of a carriage or guards. He’s made it this far, the last thing he wants is to get caught by any of the patrolling soldiers and dragged back to the castle in disgrace for sneaking out.

Luckily enough for him, he manages to slip into the crowd of townspeople with none the wiser, simply enjoying the hustle and bustle of everyday life as a commoner as he’s jostled through the streets. _‘This is fun!’_ he thinks merrily to himself, breathing in the variety of scents hanging in the air with a wide grin. He hasn’t been seen close up by the people since he was ten years old, so no one here besides any stray castle guards would be able to identify him.

He’s _free_.

He won’t be able to buy anything because he hadn’t brought any coin with him, though Hyunjin thinks that just being able to be out and about, to breathe in the smells and shop as he pleases is more than enough for him. The aroma of warm butter and fresh bread wafting from the open bakery makes his stomach growl loudly; if he isn’t mistaken, many of the pastries and breads served in the castle are made in this very shop.

In fact, he’s almost certain Jeongin had gotten his apple tarts here as well.

 _Jeongin_. Hyunjin feels as if he’s being torn in two, his heart ripped apart by the hands of guilt and resentment.

How is he going to apologise to his little brother for his behaviour? He acted no better than a bratty pup.

Shameful, just _shameful_.

“Welcome kind sir! Can I interest you in some of my trinkets?” Hyunjin startles as the merchant approaches him from the side, a tray of carved trinkets and statues in hand. They’re mainly of animals and even a few of his father and Jeongin as well as his own younger self, though hidden in the back is a small figurine that makes his breath catch.

Before his mind can even keep up with his hands, he’s already reaching for the figure and picking it up, cradling it carefully in his palms. It’s a face he still sees in his dreams sometimes, a face plastered on the walls of the castle in beautiful, masterful paintings.

“I see you’ve spotted the King Consort!” the merchant chimes, a proud smile on his round face. “He’s one of the most popular of the royals for me to carve, the people just love him.”

Hyunjin’s eyes widen. “They do?” he breathes, running a long, slender finger over his papa’s carved cheek. “But King Consort Hyunwoo passed almost sixteen years ago, why would people still buy his figurine?”

The merchant lets out a self-assured chortle, taking the figurine from Hyunjin’s hands and holding it up to the sun. “The people remember, you see, King Consort Hyunwoo was as wise and kind as our benevolent King. His highness was a commoner, you know? He never forgot us even after all his years in the castle, so we’ll always be grateful to him.”

Hyunjin nods, wishing he’d brought out some coin with him so he could at least buy this figurine of his papa. He makes to walk away but the merchant stops him, tucking the figurine into his hands. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have any money with—“

“Take it as a gift, kind sir, in memory of the King Consort.” the merchant says, a depth in his eyes Hyunjin can’t begin to comprehend. “And besides, I have the feeling you and I will meet again one day, and my hunches are hardly ever wrong.”

“Thank you.” Hyunjin whispers, cradling the figure to his chest and studying its smiling features. By the time he looks up again, the merchant is gone, vanished into the throng of the crowd without another word. What a strange man…

Though, it was still a kindness, one from the heart and not purely for political gain. Hyunjin is touched, and he will remember it for as long as he lives. Kindness for the sake of kindness, even when everyone is fighting for their livelihoods.

 _‘Jinnie.’_ it’s that voice yet again: his papa’s voice. He tucks the figure into the pocket of his coat and turns around, searching frantically for the direction from which the voice had come. Back in the dark of the tunnel, in the silence, Hyunjin could still reason with himself that hearing his papa was nothing more than a trick of the mind. But here? Out in the open, under the rays of autumn sun; it can’t possibly be just an illusion.

 _‘The forest, Jinnie, go to the forest.’_ the words barely register in his mind before he’s running, ducking through the crowded market to get to the edge of the forest beyond the rows of tents and stalls. He doesn’t quite know where this franticness in his chest has come from but he’s powerless to fight it, letting his panic carry him blindly forwards.

It’s the exact moment his feet cross over onto the forest grounds that he smells it, the scent hanging so potently in the air that Hyunjin almost chokes on it. The smell of summer: of fresh grass under the blazing sun, of lemonade at a picnic. Below it are sweeter, richer notes: the butter cookies he used to favour as a child.

 _Tantalising_.

Hyunjin follows his nose, letting it guide him through the trees to whatever it is that’s creating that scent. The scent gets stronger the further in he ventures, almost seeming to cling to the branches as the leaves like stubborn thorns. He enters a clearing full of strange, white flowers he’s never seen before, eyes scanning the brush.

Then he sees him. The alpha at the other side of the patch of flowers is tall—almost as tall as Hyunjin himself—with a head of dark brown hair trimmed neatly to the ears. He can’t see his face yet something within him hungers, a swirling knot in his belly that grows tighter and tighter and more impossible to ever unravel.

“Hello?” he calls out, the tremor in his voice surprising even himself. The tall alpha turns then to face him, a small bunch of the white flowers in hand. The world around him fades from view, nothing but a blur of greens and whites and browns. In his sight there’s nothing but him, in his nose nothing but his summery scent.

His eyes are large and puppy-like, a soft though wary smile upturning his thin lips. He’s beautiful. 

“Oh, hello?” he replies and in that very second everything Hyunjin has ever known becomes meaningless, all the love he’s given and received paling in comparison to the depth of emotion that’s brewing in his chest for this man, this _stranger_.

He realises what’s happened a breath too late, the soulbond between them already having fallen into place before he could even think to reject it. By the mesmerised look on the alpha’s face Hyunjin can tell he felt it too: the strings of fate between them having knotted and intertwined into one infinite cord. 

This is not what he wanted, this is exactly what he had dreaded the very most.

A mate, a _true_ mate.

And the one who will steal his throne if the court were to ever find out. No omega will ever sit on the throne, but a royal omega’s mate however… If anyone knew about this, Hyunjin wouldn’t be giving away his crown to his little brother. No, he’d just be handing it to a complete stranger instead.

Suddenly the man’s face is no longer beautiful in Hyunjin’s mind, those kind eyes and gentle smile no longer making his heart flutter but instead harden into unbreakable stone. Never, he will never let himself be controlled, _never_. He turns to run, to flee from this place and never see his destined mate ever again.

“Don’t go!” the alpha—his alpha— cries out, his arm out and expression desperate. Were Hyunjin any other omega in the kingdom, content with staying home and raising pups, with cooking and slaving away for a warm meal to serve to his mate at the end of a long day, willing to give up his entire life and everything he’s ever worked for _love_ —perhaps then they could have a happy, simple life together.

But Hyunjin is not, and he never will be.

So he will forget this scent of summer and sweet butter, that way when he thinks back on this it will hurt a lot less. He sprints off as fast as his legs can carry him, running until he no longer hears that alpha following behind him, no longer has that scent lingering cloyingly in his nose. His chest aches, a strange twisting sensation that has him writhing in discomfort in his very own skin.

Skin… That’s right; this isn’t his only skin.

He checks the surrounding area for any sign of life before stripping out of his clothes, folding them neatly and stuffing them into the hollowed base of a tree. His eyes slide closed and pictures a sealed cloth bag in his head, reaching into himself and tugging on the drawstring holding it closed, letting the beast within walk free.

By the time he reopens his eyes his body is that of his wolf, his midnight black fur blending him seamlessly into the forest underbrush. Hyunjin had barely even registered the pain of the shift, having endured hours upon hours of the bone cracking, flesh pulling agony as a young pup. To him, shifting now is nothing more than an ant bite, a brief sting.

In this form his legs carry him faster, push him harder, and before he knows it he’s standing at the edge of the Burning Hills with the setting sun lighting the field of red ablaze with heavenly fire. He’s only heard of the Burning Hills in his texts and paintings, though he pays the beautiful, rolling hills of fire lilies any heed with the aching pain of his soul demanding precedence in his heart.

Had that alpha been what his papa had wanted him to see in the forest? Had his long passed papa truly been the one to guide him to a love found only every one in a thousand? Hyunjin knows the tale of his parents’ love story very well, how his father had stumbled upon his papa one day while out hunting and had fallen in love right then and there.

Their love had been blessed by the heavens, is what the people had once said, though that was before his papa had succumbed to his illness only a year after Jeongin’s birth. The whispers of court had once called Jeongin a cursed child, swearing he would bring tragedy upon the land after killing his own papa.

And now they wish to make him the crown prince; Hyunjin doesn’t even know what to think anymore.

His heart. It hurts, it hurts more than Hyunjin can bear.

The howl rips its way out of his throat the moment he opens his mouth, echoing loudly across the Burning Hills. In that howl is every fragment of his pain, every inch of his frustration, his anger at the world, his anger towards himself. He can feel it pulling at something within him, deeper than his lungs, stronger than his heart.

It feels like he’s calling out for something— _someone_ —far, far away, though he doesn’t know who. But he thinks if he listens hard enough, holding his breath and taking note of every single swish and rustle of the wind, he thinks he can hear them calling back to him too.


	6. Seungmin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My god, this took so long I'm so sorry hahaha. I've been busy with uni tings and haven't really had the motivation to write T_T I didn't want to just churn out something subpar so I hope this is up to standard :') We finally have our first Seungjin crumbs, I hope you all enjoy the chapter!

Night has fallen around him by the time Seungmin comes back to his senses, the air hanging between the trees cool and ever so slightly damp. He’s shivering a little despite his raised alpha temperature and he berates himself for not putting on a proper coat before leaving for the woods that afternoon. He glances down at his basket with a sigh: he hadn’t collected nearly as much as he’d planned to at all.

Then again, he’d had an unexpected interruption to his day.

The painful twisting sensation from earlier returns in full force in the pit of his belly, sharpened, poison coated claws digging deep into his guts. Rejection hurts, Seungmin realises, the memory of plush lips turning down into a grimace hurting him more than he’d ever imagined it could.

He’s sitting against the base of a tall birch tree with his knees pressed up against his chest, curled in on himself in a way he hasn’t done for a long time now. It reminds him of the days he used to spend hiding away in his room after making a mistake with an elixir or identifying the wrong plant for a tonic, embarrassed and ashamed of himself.

Apothecary work hadn’t come easy to him. It’d taken him years of hard work and studying to even get anywhere close to Wonpil’s level of skill, and even now he finds himself paling in comparison to the master his adoptive father had been before his passing. There was a confidence that budded within him when Seungmin had presented as an alpha, a new broadness to his shoulders and an arch of his back that hadn’t quite been there before.

Being an alpha had made him feel strong, had helped him find his place in this big, big world that he’d been struggling to for years. Wonpil had told him time and time again that what he presented as didn’t define him, that all of his goodness and all of his strength had been there long before his seventeenth birthday.

Seungmin hadn’t believed him, he still doesn’t now.

Because how could he be worth anything if his own heaven fated imprint doesn’t want him?

The grass feels soft and dewy beneath his fingers, the earth cold from the rapidly chilling night. He used to come here often as a child even when he was still living on the streets, huddled up in the brush on colder days and basking atop the high tree branches in the peak of summer. When had he stopped climbing trees? It scares him that he can’t remember.

“Seungmin?” he sees the glint of light before he hears his friend’s voice, the flickering flame of the oil lamp he’s using the light his path casting long, dark shadows across the underbrush. He isn’t surprised that Felix has found him, after all, it was Felix that Wonpil had trusted to watch over Seungmin when he found out he was dying.

Felix stumbles upon him mere seconds later, pupils blown wide from the darkness of the forest. He releases a sigh of relief at the sight of him, crouching down and hanging his lamp on a branch by his head. “You didn’t come home, I was worried.” his friend whispers as he pulls him into a tight hug. The smell of wildflowers that clings to him makes a lump form in Seungmin’s throat as he tucks his face into the crook of Felix’s neck, eyes burning despite not fully knowing the reason why.

“I’m sorry.” he breathes, furiously blinking away his unshed tears before they can fall and expose him. Felix’s arms wrap a little tighter around him as he catches the tremor in Seungmin’s voice, stroking Seungmin’s hair with a small, gentle hand. He closes his eyes and the memories of a night not unlike this one come rushing to the forefronts of his mind.

_“I’m sorry I yelled at you, I shouldn’t have.” Wonpil’s shoulders are hunched as he crawls between the bushes to get closer to him, guilt plain on his sharp features. He reaches out for Seungmin and the promise of a warm hug is enough to break his resolve, scrambling forwards and crashing straight into Wonpil’s chest._

_His clothes smell like herbs and damp wood, though below that are the notes of allspice and smoke that Seungmin has grown so fond of. Wonpil smells like home to him, the only home he’s ever truly known. “I’m sorry for knocking over the sleeping elixirs.” he mumbles into Wonpil’s well worn linen shirt._

_Wonpil pulls back and taps twice at the tip of his nose, a smile creeping onto Seungmin’s face despite himself. “It was an accident, children are clumsy little things after all.”_

_“I’m not a child!” Seungmin argues, puffing up his chest with a determined pout. “I’m ten in a week!”_

_“But you’re still my little helper, aren’t you?”_

_Seungmin nods frantically, clutching onto the threads of the responsibility he’d been given with an unclenching grip. “I wanna be your helper forever, Papa-“ he gasps and slaps a hand over his mouth, the word having slipped off of his tongue before he could stop it._

_He can tell from the furrow of Wonpil’s brow that he wants to say something but his lips remain firmly sealed. Wonpil stands up shakily and pulls Seungmin up with him, holding out a large, warm hand for Seungmin to take. “Let’s go home, little one.”_

“Let’s go home, Minnie.” Felix mumbles into his hair, pressing a light kiss to the crown of his head. Seungmin knows he must be drenched in Felix’s scent by now but he doesn’t care, letting it encase him like a warm blanket on a wintry night.

“It’s so quiet there, I hate it.” he admits, so softly he wonders if Felix could even hear him.

“What’s wrong, Minnie? Did something happen today?” Felix may act childishly naive sometimes but it’s moments like this that Seungmin remembers just how perceptive the omega is, averting his gaze to try and prolong the inevitable spilling of his guts. “You know you can tell me anything.”

And the worst part is that he does know that, he knows it very well in fact.

“I met my imprint." he ignores the shock in Felix’s eyes, ignores the soft gasp that escapes him. Seungmin purses his lips and turns away, brushing the dirt off of his trousers as he stands up.

Felix catches his arm before he can move any further, and Seungmin’s stomach churns at the hesitant curiosity he sees on Felix’s angular face. “Where are they now, Minnie?”

“He left, it doesn’t matter anymore.” somehow it hurts even more to say the words out loud.

“Oh Minnie-“

“I said it doesn’t matter!” he snaps, yanking his arm out of Felix’s grip and trudging away from the soft glow of the oil lamp into the darkness. He can hear Felix following him but he doesn’t slow his pace, at least not until the burning heat at the corners of his eyes has faded away.

Eventually Felix catches up to him, tugging at the hem of his coat and pulling him to a stop. He manhandles Seungmin into turning around and facing him and he feels callused thumbs brush away the tears that have gathered traitorously at the arches of his cheekbones. “If it’s fated then it happens for a reason, if the Moon Mother has bound the two of you together then you _will_ meet again.”

Seungmin chokes out a half-hearted laugh. “I didn’t know you believe in Lunuë.”

His friend smiles and uses the edge of his sleeve to dab away any excess wetness on Seungmin’s face. “Wolves are born of the moon, it’s only right to believe that She will guide us on the right paths.”

“Then why am I alone, Felix?” Seungmin rubs at his chest to try and dispel the nagging ache that has settled there, right between his lungs and the cage of his ribs. “Why did She take away the closest person to family that I’ve ever know?”

“Aren’t we family, Seungmin?” Felix says, and guilt pools in his stomach at the twinge of hurt Seungmin can hear between the freckled boy’s words. “You’ve always been like a brother to me, and I promise I’ll be by your side for as I live.”

“You’ll have to find your own happiness one day, Lix, have a family of your own.”

Before he even knows it they’re walking down a familiar street, the way lit only by the flickering flames of the street lamps. The window above the apothecary remains dark and empty, and Seungmin finds himself glancing over at the warm glow of the jewelsmith’s shop with envy. 

“Family isn’t just blood, you know that right, Seungmin?” Felix mumbles as they come to a stop before the locked apothecary door. “There are people around you that love you, I wish you could see that.”

Seungmin remains quiet, slipping his key into the door and unlocking it without a word. Felix sighs softly and pulls him into one last hug before turning on his heels and crossing the street over towards the jewelsmith’s, shoulders hunched in defeat. He should apologise, but that’ll have to wait till tomorrow.

A good night’s rest should help him sort through the mess of thoughts in his head.

He doesn’t bother lighting any of the lamps along the stairs as he makes his way up to the second floor, padding through the pitch black hallway between his and Wonpil’s old room without much difficulty. Seungmin finds himself standing before Wonpil’s closed door with his heart in his throat, hand hovering over the door handle. He hasn’t been in the room since Wonpil had passed, hasn’t been able to bring himself to go through his old master’s things and pack them away as he should have weeks ago.

Because once all of the trinkets and books and clothes are stuffed into trunks and boxes and the room cleared, Wonpil will truly, _truly_ be gone.

The room smells dusty and stale but Seungmin doesn’t mind it, padding into the darkness and taking a seat at the edge of Wonpil’s bed. The mattress is thin and worn, the sharp jabs of straw poking out from beneath the thick linen causing a twinge in his heart he hadn’t expected. He thinks of his own feather down mattress and bites at his lip to keep from tearing up.

“I miss you, Hyung.” he whispers into the night, hoping the words will travel far and wide to reach the paradise Wonpil will spend the rest of his eternity. “I wish you hadn’t left me, this house is too lonely without you.”

Moonlight shines through a small, square window by the end wall, casting long shadows across the bed. If Seungmin squints, he can almost imagine his old master sitting beside him with his textbooks in hand, reading glasses perched precariously on the bridge of his nose. He lies down on the straw mattress and curls up beneath the fraying wool blanket at the foot of the bed, breathing in the smell of allspice that still lingers in between the threads.

For now, these memories will be enough.

They have to be.

* * *

Seungmin stares at the pile of neatly folded clothing sitting atop his work counter and sighs, running his fingers over the soft fabric. He’d told Felix he had no interest in going to the crown prince’s ball and yet here his ball clothes are, left undoubtedly by his friend on his way to the palace earlier that morning,

With Felix being a part of the troupe that’s performing tonight at the ball, Seungmin has barely caught a glimpse of his freckled friend in between the hours and hours of rehearsals and fittings. He’d lost the drive to go to the ball after that day in the forest, not wanting to spend an entire evening staring at a crown prince he knows he’ll never have when his heart is already yearning for another.

He’s already going through his days searching the crowds for that face, for those long raven tresses and those devastatingly plush lips. And that _scent_.

The trickle of a waterfall during winter, frost clinging to branches and leaves, chilly days and even chillier nights…

Despite how he’d ran from him, despite the pain of betrayal; Seungmin longs for him with every fibre of his being. Even if he shouldn’t, even if it hurts.

There’s a small box on top of the pile of clothes, a note laid carefully beside it in Felix’s neat handwriting. Curiosity gets the better of him and he reaches for the box, unlatching the bronze clasp on the front to reveal the contents within. His breath catches in his throat at the sight of the glimmering silver ring nestled in crushed velvet within, tiny rubies and diamonds dotting the thin vine-like coils around the main band.

It reminds him of the earrings that Changbin fellow had bought just a few weeks ago, and he wonders if they were meant to be part of a matching set. He lifts it out of the box and slips it onto the middle finger of his left hand, allowing himself a moment to admire how it glitters in the sunlight.

He whistles lowly; Felix has really improved at his jewelsmithing.

 _‘I picked up some nice clothes for you to wear to the ball, you’re welcome, I know I’m the best friend ever.’_ he scans through Felix’s note, smiling softly to himself at the small drawing of a cat Felix has included at the bottom of the parchment. _‘The ring is for you, it’ll make me really really happy to see you wear it!’_

 _‘I’ll see you later tonight at the palace, you’ll be the best looking alpha there I promise! Love, Felix.’_ Seungmin sighs; Felix really does know how to get his way when he needs to. When he puts it like that it leaves Seungmin no choice but to make an appearance at the ball after all, and he can already feel his stomach churning at the thought of getting all dressed up to appeal to an omega he knows isn’t _his_.

Well, he supposes he doesn’t have much to lose. But for now he has work to do; the jar of morning dew he’d collected from the forest won’t sugar itself after all.

An ounce of tiger nut sap per three ounces of dew, stirred gently over the smallest of flames until all of the sap is completely dissolved. Leave to rest in a sealed blue tinted glass jar for twenty four hours under direct light or until cloudy mixture appears clear and translucent. It’s the simplest of tasks yet rather time consuming, hence why he’d spent most of his childhood in charge of preparing it for Wonpil. An apprentice’s job, Wonpil had called it, just as he called all the other tedious tasks he’d assigned to Seungmin.

By the time he’s done the sun has already risen to high noon, warming the cool autumn air with its rays. Seungmin stretches his arms up above his head as he bottles the last of the sugared dew, setting it down on the ledge by the window to soak up all of the goodness from the shining sun.

A man comes in not long after Seungmin flips the sign on the door to ‘Open’ with a bright red nose, sniffing and sneezing all over Seungmin’s countertop as he asks for a remedy for his cold. “Any other symptoms, sir?” he asks, peering warily at the red spots he sees peeking out from the collar of his shirt. “Itching, perhaps?”

“Ye, my chest has been a tad scratchy these past two days.” the man mumbles through another round of sniffles, wiping at his nose with his shirt. Seungmin nods: all the common symptoms of a bad reaction to spider moss. He shuffles into the back storeroom, humming quietly to himself as he searches through the drawers for the remedy he’s sure he has lying around somewhere.

He sets the palm sized bag of tea leaves down in front of the man with a smile. “Steep a teaspoon of this in boiling water for about three to four minutes every breakfast and dinner for three days and you should all better.” he instructs, grabbing a quill from the drawer and scribbling the instructions down on a scrap of parchment in case he forgets. “That’ll be twenty bronze.”

“Thank you, young man.” Seungmin doesn’t bother counting the coins he gets from the man, not many are foolish enough to cheat an apothecary. “Say, you look just like Wonpil back when he was your age.”

This catches his attention. “You knew Master Wonpil?” he gives the man a quick once over, scouring his memory for any traces of ever meeting him before.

“We were from the same orphanage way back when. I’m Younghyun, Kang Younghyun.” he extends a hand for Seungmin to shake and he does, a little frantically if anything. “Last I saw you you were a wee little thing, now you’re all grown and running the place by yourself, Wonpil would be proud.”

Seungmin panics. “We’ve met?”

“You were sleeping when I dropped by, so we’ve never been formally introduced.” Younghyun explains before a sad look falls over his face. “I’m sorry I didn’t make it in time for Wonpil’s funeral, I sailed back as soon as I got word of his passing.”

The loud sneeze Younghyun lets out after is enough to ruin the solemn atmosphere between them and Seungmin offers the older man a handkerchief with a wry grin. “If you have the time, Mr. Younghyun, perhaps I could take you to visit his grave?” Seungmin hasn’t gone to visit since they’d buried him, but he’d be darned if he let his master’s old friend leave town without seeing him.

“I’d appreciate that, will you be at the ball tonight…?” Younghyun trails off at the end of his sentence and grins at him sheepishly.

“Seungmin.” he supplies helpfully,“And I’m still thinking about whether or not to go.”

Younghyun sniffles again and reaches over to pat Seungmin firmly on the shoulder; he smells of aniseed and Seungmin ignores just how much it reminds him of Wonpil. “You should go, who knows when you’ll get the chance to attend a royal ball again in your life.” he says, a teasing grin on his face. “At least go for the food, those noble folk really do know how to eat.”

That pulls a smile onto Seungmin’s lips despite himself. “You make a strong point.”

“Of course I do.” Younghyun grabs the bag of tea and shakes it lightly. “Thanks for this, Seungminnie, I’ll see you around.”

And then he’s gone as quickly as he’d come, the only proof of his presence the gleaming silver coin he’s left on the countertop. It’s far too generous of a tip for a simple tea remedy, but Seungmin has never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth. The silver reminds him of the ring still sitting on his finger and he finally makes up his mind, locking the coin away with the rest of his money and bundling the clothing Felix had left for him under his arm.

It’s about time he gets ready for the ball.

* * *

Seeing the sheer number of alphas all heading in the direction of the castle is a little overwhelming but Seungmin forces down his burgeoning nerves, smoothing over the barely-there creases on his shirt and vest. The material is a lot softer and smoother than he’s used to, caressing his skin with every movement. ‘ _I’m just going for the food._ ’ he repeats to himself in his head over and over again like a mantra in a feeble attempt to calm himself down.

“Seungmin!” Ms. Kim is waving him over from under the shade of her apple stall, and while Seungmin is a little late already he can definitely afford a quick detour. Her children are all huddled up behind her wooden table, thin blankets wrapped tightly around their narrow shoulders to keep out the chill hanging in the air. The youngest girl sticks a hand out of their blanket cocoon to give him a little wave, the tiny gesture enough to melt Seungmin’s heart. “Off to the ball, little one?”

He nods, glancing unconsciously down at his unusually fancy garb with reddened cheeks. “Not everyday commoners like us get invited to the castle, thought it’d be a waste if I passed it over.”

Ms. Kim merely hums in response before turning to her daughters and gesturing for them to give her something. Seungmin peers around her to try and get a peek, only catching a glimpse of bright red and white before she’s calling for him to come closer. In her hands is a simple circlet of tiny red and white flowers, the stems tightly woven into an elegantly simple flower crown that she has to get up on her toes to place atop his dark brown hair. “Yoonji made this for you this morning, it’ll break her heart if you don’t accept it.”

Seungmin adjusts the flower crown so it sits more securely on his head before kneeling down before the bundled children, ruffling the hair of the second eldest girl he knows to be Yoonji with a kind smile. “Thank you, Yoonji, I’ll definitely wear it to the ball.”

His chest feels warm as her face lights up immediately, young eyes twinkling with a joyful innocence known only in youth. Seungmin doesn’t need the extravagant jewels and rich silks he’s seen on some of the alphas passing by, those wouldn’t suit him in the slightest. He reaches up to prod gently at one of the delicate white buds: this is just perfect for him.

“You best be off, little one.” Ms Kim shoos him off with a fond expression. “You don’t want to be the last one to arrive.”

Suddenly remembering the time, Seungmin bows deeply before turning on his heels and speeding off in the direction of the castle, grateful Alensir is only a stones throw away from the royal gates lest he truly be late. He releases his control over his own scent and pheromones for just a moment while he’s surrounded by the horde of other alphas, refusing to submit under the heavy pressure of the dominance that some of the older ones are forcing.

Even if he isn’t here to compete for the crown prince’s hand, he _will not_ allow himself to be looked down upon by anyone else. The guard at the gates takes barely half a whiff of him before letting him through, shoving a simple black half-mask into his hands as he passes by. Sparing a glance over at the other attendees scattered around him, Seungmin notices a little belatedly that each of them have either on their face or clutched in their grip a mask of some sort.

A masquerade ball? Seungmin couldn’t recall that being anywhere on the invitation.

He follows the trickling crowd further into the castle, jaw falling slack at the sheer magnificence of the structure around him. Smooth stone walls, richly coloured tapestries, the faint lulling trills of an orchestra in the distance. He’s never been in a place so majestically beautiful before, then again, it has to be fit for royalty after all.

Seungmin pulls the mask onto his face just before he and the other alphas enter the main ballroom, tying it off firmly in a small bow behind his head. The sound of music washes right over him the moment the large wooden double doors are opened, the gleam of the crystal chandelier hanging high up above their heads almost blinding. A servant approaches their group with a tray of drinks which Seungmin accepts gratefully, downing the sweet, almost fizzy golden liquid in a single gulp.

There’s just so much going on all around him, he thinks he’ll need to be a little tipsy to get through the night. No one really pays any attention to him but Seungmin doesn’t mind, the fewer eyes on him as he gobbles up the little finger foods they have displayed along the walls the better. The room is so full of scents—both natural and perfume—that it’s giving him a headache; whoever thought putting a bunch of alphas in a room to compete for the most desirable omega in the land was a good idea?

The night is only just beginning so Felix’s troupe won’t be performing anytime soon, though Seungmin can’t wait to see his friend in action. He pokes at a small dish of shrimp salad and has to hold in a groan at the flavours that dance across his tongue as he bites into one, wondering just how much it would cost for him to even attempt to make it himself.

He’s about to take another bite when an overwhelmingly _familiar_ scent catches his attention. His very being seems to come alive in that single moment, something deep within the recesses of his soul calling out:

_Mate, mate, mate._

The first breath of snow, the calm before a raging blizzard. His imprint, his destined mate.

His feet are carrying him through the ballroom without giving his shrimp a second thought, weaving through the mass of pheromone-laden bodies towards the source of that _scent_. ‘ _He’s here,’_ the wolf within him is crying out, _‘my mate is here.’_

Seungmin stumbles out into the now deserted hallway in a daze, his mind foggy and disorientated from the desperate cries of the beast lurking inside of him.

 _Mate, mate, mate._

“Hey you! Get back in the ballroom.” a passing guard is the one to snap him out of the mass of instinct and desire he’s become, glaring suspiciously at him with a hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “What are you doing out here?”

“Oh- oh, uh, I was just uh…” he scrambles to try and find an excuse but lucky for him he doesn’t have to as a warm hand latches onto his arm and pulls him in close to a much smaller body. He glances down and lets out a deep sigh of relief at the sight of his best friend, his usually soft and almost kitten-like face now made up and drawn to the point where Seungmin has to take a few extra seconds to recognise him.

“Sorry sir, I asked him to wait outside the ballroom to pass me some of my jewellery for the performance tonight.” Felix lies effortlessly, pulling the ring discreetly off of Seungmin’s finger and holding it up for the guard to see. “Didn’t want anyone inside getting the wrong idea about us, we’re just neighbours.”

Seungmin can tell that the guard isn’t completely convinced but with a few deliberately slow bats of Felix’s long eyelashes he’s waving them off without another word, cheeks pink as he strides determinedly down the hallway _away_ from them. Felix snickers softly and slides the ring back onto Seungmin’s finger, beaming up at him so brightly Seungmin finds himself sympathising with that poor guard after all. No one can resist Felix Lee, it’s pointless to even try.

“I’m so happy you’re here, Minnie!” Felix is almost bouncing on the spot as he holds Seungmin at arms length to check out his outfit, poking at the flower crown on his head with a proud smile. “You look fantastic!”

“It’s all thanks to you, really.” he mumbles embarrassedly as they reenter the ballroom. “When are you performing?”

Felix is dressed in full red, his sleeves billowing out behind him with every little movement he makes. He’s been rather secretive about the set piece they’ll be performing tonight so Seungmin is eager to see it, if only to cheer on his dearest friend. He’s about to reach for a cracker smothered in some sort of black eggs when a jolt rushes down his spine, the distinct sensation of being _watched_.

There, standing at the far end of the room by the foot of the large marble staircase is Seo Changbin, his gaze stony as he glares at the hand Seungmin has placed on the small of Felix’s back. The beta doesn’t have a mask on, and now that Seungmin thinks about it, neither does Felix. Perhaps the masks were only for alphas, some sort of strange distinguisher from the rest of the guests ambling about.

He removes his hand as subtly as he can, suppressing a laugh as the beta’s face immediately relaxes. Changbin’s eyes are soft and open as he stares at Felix, the corners of his lips upturned ever so slightly. Felix hasn’t noticed him yet but Seungmin is sure that once he does, his own expression won’t be very far off.

“Welcoming his highness Crown Prince Hyunjin and his majesty King Chan!” the herald standing at the top of the grand staircase announces, his voice as loud and booming as a trombone in a silent room. Seungmin notices everyone around him dropping into low bows and scrambles to do the same, his flower crown staying miraculously in place despite his wild movements.

The room explodes with scents so intoxicatingly strong it makes him want to throw up: the pheromones of hundreds of virile alphas trapped in an enclosed space. He can barely even detect Felix’s sweet wildflower aroma from right beside him, his senses overloaded. The alphas are presenting, showing their scent off to the omega prince in the hopes of catching his attention.

 _‘More like his crown.’_ Seungmin thinks, glancing up from his bow to try and catch a glimpse of the elusive crown prince before he disappears into the crowd. His gaze roves over the small army of guards standing at the foot of the stairs, tracing the white marble handrail up and up and up until-

_Mate, mate, mate._

His hair is a lot shorter than the last time he’d seen him in the woods, trimmed neatly to just above the sharp line of his jaw and parted to expose his forehead. Though what seizes his attention the most are the glittering silver earrings hanging from his earlobes, the delicate swirling vines the perfect match for the ring on his finger.

 _‘My imprint is the crown prince.’_ his throat feels tight, his lungs struggling to draw breath. This is why he’d run, this is why Seungmin could never, _ever_ , be good enough. He’s just a commoner, a mere peasant, how could he possibly be worthy of the crown prince. He’s beautiful, though, so beautiful his chest is aching with it. He’s everything he could have ever dreamed of, everything and more.

 _‘Claim him, he’s yours.’_ a dark, malicious voice whispers in his ear, tempting him to do the very thing he knows he’ll never be able to do. ‘ _Take him, take him.’_

“No!” he doesn’t realise he’s said it out loud until every head in the room has turned to look at him, including the crown prince. The horror that flashes across the prince’s breathtaking features would have been funny if it weren’t directed straight at him, and Seungmin realises he doesn’t like the stew of self-loathing and insecurity that churns in his belly in the slightest. He wonders how he recognises him with his mask on, but he doesn’t allow his thoughts to wander too far down that path.

The prince’s hand is clutched tightly around the railing and for a brief moment Seungmin wonders if he’s going to run away just as he had that day in the woods. The prince and the king seem engaged in a silent conversation before the prince finally relents, allowing himself to be escorted down the stairs to the main ballroom

He doesn’t spare Seungmin another glance, looking determinedly anywhere _but_ him as he dips his head politely towards the guests. “Thank you all for coming, please, dance and be merry.” the prince’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes but no one else seems to notice, returning to their food and their conversations without a breath of pause.

A few of the nobles are brave enough to approach the sullen-looking prince, making small talk and shoving daughters and sons in his face to make introductions. Seungmin guesses Felix wasn’t kidding about the ball being to find the crown prince a mate, too bad he knows it can never be him.

“Hey I’m going to find my troupe- Minnie? Are you okay?” Felix grips at his arm and turns him around so they’re face to face, concern furrowing his brows as he stares up at him. “You look pale, are you not feeling well?”

He nods. “I’m fine, just a little hungry.” he supposes it’s a victory in itself that his voice doesn’t crack, forcing a tiny smile to reassure him. Felix doesn’t look convinced in the slightest but he accepts Seungmin’s pathetic excuse anyways, his lips in a tight line.

“If you say so, I’ve gotta go get ready now, I’ll find you after.” Felix taps him twice on the nose and the tension that had built up in Seungmin’s body instantly melts away. This time the smile on his face is genuine as he wishes the freckled boy good luck, snatching another flute of champagne from a passing server. He can’t leave before Felix has performed no matter how much he wants to just go home and curl up in a ball in his bed, so he can only pray that getting a little alcohol in his system will be enough to dull his nose enough that the crown prince’s wintry scent doesn’t tug straight at his heartstrings with every breath.

He’ll just drown his sorrows in shrimp and crackers, no big deal.

The buzz from the alcohol is starting to hit now, his head feeling a little floatier than it had ten minutes ago. He grabs a few more crackers and ambles through the ballroom; spotting the large glass doors leading out to a balcony of some sorts along the opposite wall. Some fresh air right now sounds lovely, Seungmin decides, taking another slow sip of his champagne.

After all, he’ll probably never get alcohol of such fine quality ever again in his life.

It’s a full moon tonight, the shining sphere hanging high up in the sky and casting all it sees in silvery light. He sets his glass down and leans his elbows against the thick stone railing running along the edge of the balcony, just taking a moment to himself to breathe in the magnificent view. The ballroom is on the opposite side of the castle from where they’d entered, facing the rolling expanse of lush green hills and the most beautiful lake Seungmin has ever seen.

And the people who stay in the palace get to see this _every single day_ ; Seungmin can’t quite wrap his head around it. What he’d do to see a view like this out of his window every morning…

He hears a rustle of noise off to his right and freezes, wondering if it’s that guard here to reprimand him again for being out of the ballroom. Seungmin smells him before he can fully make out his features, the sourish twang of annoyance in his icy scent making Seungmin’s metaphorical hackles stand on end. Every fibre of his alpha instinct is telling him to find the omega and soothe him, though he knows the crown prince would sooner rip his head off than let Seungmin even attempt anything of the sort.

“If you would please not touch me again, Lord Woobin, that would be greatly appreciated.” the crown prince bites out through gritted teeth, a hand on an older alpha’s chest to hold him back. Seungmin can smell the heavy liquor on his breath from all the way over here, can smell his blatant lust and desire for the beautiful omega crown prince.

It’s _disgusting_.

“Come on, omega prince, you know you need a big, strong alpha to satisfy you.” the drunken lord slurs, reaching around the prince to pin him in place against the balcony railing. Seungmin watches on but doesn’t intervene just yet; from what he’s heard from Felix, the crown prince is the last person who needs saving from an intoxicated alpha. He’ll jump in if things truly get out of hand, but he trusts in the prince to be able to handle himself.

After all, he’d been raised to be a _king_ , not a damsel in distress.

The prince lets out a low growl that rumbles deep in the base of his throat. “I don’t need an alpha for _anything._ ” he shoves the lord back, hard enough for the older man to stumble. “And if you _ever_ speak to me like that again, Lord Min, don’t think for a second that I won’t have you thrown in the dungeons.”

“Listen you-“ the lord raises a hand in fury and Seungmin’s vision goes red; how dare he even try to lay a hand on him. But the alpha doesn’t stand a chance. With a strength Seungmin wouldn’t have guessed the prince had in those long, lithe limbs of his, the lord is sent flying, landing hard on his back with a solid ‘ _thump_ ' a good many feet away from where the prince is stood.

Finally realising he’s been beaten, the lord scrambles to his feet and dashes back into the ballroom, large, beer-fattened belly jiggling as he runs. Seungmin sucks in a breath, unsure whether to be intimidated or vaguely turned on by the fearless crown prince.

Who is he kidding? That was one of the most attractive sights he’s ever had the grace of witnessing.

“Why didn’t you interfere?” Seungmin jumps, almost sending his champagne flying right off the edge of the balcony. He turns with wide eyes towards the prince, unsure how to respond when his brain is still struggling to process the fact that his imprint has spoken to him for the very first time.

“Uh…” is the exceptionally intelligent response his brain eventually manages.

The prince frowns and comes closer, the glowing light of the full moon on the sharp line of his jaw and the high arch of his cheekbones doing terrible things to Seungmin’s heart. He’s even more beautiful up close, it’s simply not fair for a single person to posses this much beauty. Seungmin isn’t bad looking, he knows that, but standing beside the crown prince he feels like a downright _troll_.

“Any other alpha would have jumped for an opportunity to save a poor, helpless omega, so why didn’t you?” he asks, plush lips turned downwards in perplexed confusion. “Is it because I ran from you?”

Seungmin bites his tongue to hold back a groan as the memory squeezes painfully at his heart, looking away from the crown prince—his _imprint_ —so he won’t see just how much he’s affected by his careless words. “I just didn’t think you needed saving.” he mutters into the night, still refusing to meet the prince’s calculative gaze. “You can handle yourself just fine, I think.”

“You’re right, I can.” the trace of sadness in the prince’s voice is what gets him to finally turn around. “No one else thinks that, though. No one that matters, anyways.”

“It’s a good thing I don’t matter, then.” Seungmin scoffs, tightening his jaw and downing the last few gulps of his champagne. It tastes a lot more bitter than he’d remembered, though perhaps _he’s_ the bitter one in this equation. “You don’t have to talk to me, I got the message: you don’t want anything to do with me.”

“But what if I said that I do?” there’s a rawness in the young prince’s eyes that captures him, holding onto the threads of his attention with an unflinching iron fist. “What if I said that I want you?"

“Then I’d say that you’re a liar, Crown Prince.” because Seungmin can’t bring himself to hope, not when he knows just how much it’ll break him to have that hope snatched away yet again. “You made your choice, you don’t get to take it back.”

The prince’s hand isn’t soft like a royal omega’s should be, his palm and fingers rough and callused from years upon years of training. Seungmin holds his breath as the prince strokes gently over his cheek, his thumb tracing the peak of his cheekbone. Long, delicate fingers undo the ribbon holding his mask in place and Seungmin feels it slip off of his face, hears it fall with a soft ‘ _clack_ ’ to the cold stone floor. This close, Seungmin’s head is spinning from the intensity of his imprint’s scent, the traces of lime beneath the layers of frost and ice almost enough to break him.

His imprint the prince may be, but Seungmin knows that the prince will never be his. Not truly, not the way Seungmin wants.

“You look like a dream…” the prince whispers, and Seungmin shudders at just how vulnerable those words make him feel. They make him want to be foolish and give this beautiful omega his heart, to say _‘screw it_ ’ to the consequences and court a prince he knows he just _isn’t_ _good_ _enough_ for. “I hate how you make me feel.”

Like a bucket of ice cold water at five in the morning, the prince’s words yank Seungmin right out of the fantasy he’d allowed himself to indulge in. He pulls the prince’s hand away from his face and squares his shoulders. “My apologies, your highness, I’ll take my leave then.”

“No wait-“ the prince yanks at his arm just as Seungmin is stepping away, sending him stumbling straight into the prince’s arms before he can think to catch himself.

Soft, so soft. The prince’s lips are softer than Seungmin had ever imagined lips could be, the trace of sweet wine he can taste on them making his head spinning. He wants to melt into this kiss, freeze this moment in time. For the first time in Seungmin’s life, everything seems to have just slipped right into place, every single missing piece of him now filled so perfectly he might never have been missing any at all. His very soul is singing, the wolf inside of him howling in pleasure.

 _Mate, mate, mate._

But it’s over far too soon, and the regret he sees in the beautiful prince’s eyes may very well be enough to kill him after all.

This time Seungmin is the one who runs away, shoving through the throng of party guests without a care, ignoring their curses, ignoring their growls. He’s going to miss Felix’s performance, or perhaps he already has. He can’t think, he doesn’t want to think.

Thinking hurts; _god_ it hurts so much.

So he runs, runs until the pain stops, runs until his heart no longer feels like it’s breaking into a million little pieces, runs until the wolf within stops its crying. Seungmin stares up at the star-filled sky and takes a deep, shuddering breath.

He swipes away a trail of liquid from his cheek; it must be drizzling tonight.

Yes, it must be.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a review and some kudos if you like, it really means a lot! 
> 
> Follow me @chocochimkook on twitter where I also have a curiouscat! 
> 
> <3


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